WaT Shelter
by Mariel3
Summary: A missing six year old and lessons learned. JS
1. Default Chapter

Many thanks to DM and KM for getting me through this!  
  
Apologies to TPTB for taking their characters out for a ride in my car. I promise to get them home on time and all in one piece!  
  
Shelter Chapter 1/10 By: Mariel  
  
Six-year-old Emma Matthews pumped her thin legs harder and harder, making the swing arc higher and higher into the sky. Back and forth, back and forth, she swooped, loving the feel of the air rushing against her cheeks, loving the way it lifted her long, tangled blonde hair off the back of her neck. Oblivious to the grey, dirty buildings that towered over her on three sides, she didn't care that the area she played in was not really the 'park' the locals called it, but, in reality, just a small, desolate patch of dirt with a broken swing set in the middle of it. Exhilarated, she smiled, forgetting for a moment she was hungry, her coat too thin for the cold December air, and her mommy gone again.  
  
Back and forth, back and forth...the rhythm lulled her, let her chase away the last few days worth of memories. She'd be going to school tomorrow. It'd be better there. Mommy was sure to let her go, now that those people had come to say she had to.  
  
She pumped her legs harder. The word 'mommy' filled her with longing. She wanted a mommy like the ones she saw on television and like the ones in the foster homes she visited. Her own was nothing like those. She didn't like her mother's absences, or her yelling when she was there. She didn't like the dirty apartment, the late nights, the irregular food and her mommy's friends. She didn't like not knowing if she would be going to school and if mommy would be home when she said she would be. She didn't like being with her mother, period, and wished her mother would forget she had a daughter and let her stay at a foster home. A determined look set upon her face and she swung her legs still harder, chasing her thoughts away.  
  
Her hands beginning to sting from the bite of the fall air rushing against them and the cold of the rusty swing chain, she slowed down slightly. Mommy might be home in a while. She'd better get back inside. Feeling brave, she decided to jump off while still in motion, the way she'd seen the older kids do. The world rushed beneath her, too fast for her to focus on the garbage and dirt and stones beneath her feet. Back and forth, back and forth... holding her breath, she tried to time it right, and as the swing arced forward, she let go, giving herself up to the forward movement that propelled her off the swing seat and into the cold air. A moment of heavenly flight, and she was tumbling towards the ground. She fell onto her knees, sharp shards of rock and dirt biting into them. Rolling over, she curled into a ball, clutching her knee and scrunching her face up in pain.  
  
MISSING: 8 HOURS  
  
Samantha Spade put down the phone. Standing up, she walked quickly towards Jack Malone's office, her blonde head bent over her hastily scribbled notes. When she reached his door, she slowed, looked through the glass, and then frowned.  
  
There was no one there.  
  
Opening the door and walking in anyways, she stood in front of his desk, wondering if she should leave her notes on one of the piles of papers there, or go look for him.  
  
A warm voice behind her made her jump.  
  
"If you're looking for something in that mess, give up while you're ahead."  
  
Samantha looked around quickly. "No. I was just trying to figure out if it was safe to leave something there, or if I should go in search for you."  
  
Jack Malone walked into his office. "Double jeopardy: I'd never have found the note, and you'd never have found me. I was in the little boy's room."  
  
Samantha looked at her boss with one eyebrow raised. "What makes you think that wouldn't have been the first place I'd have looked?"  
  
Jack smiled slightly. She had him there. Sitting down in his chair, he looked up at her and asked, "What've you got?"  
  
"Only a phone call so far, but NYPD thinks we're going to be looking into a missing girl's case soon. They're faxing over the information now."  
  
Jack frowned. They had a case on the go already and Danny was finishing up the paperwork on another that had not ended happily. He'd hoped for a lull in things, but... "How old is she, and how long has she been missing?" he asked.  
  
"She's six. Her name's Emma Matthews, and as far as they can determine, she's been missing a little more than eight hours. She was last seen by a neighbour as she was walking towards a swingset in a little park outside the building she lives in." Checking her notes, she said, "Which would be 1245 Cuthrow Ave." Looking back at Jack, she continued, "Her mother says she'd left the girl at home while she stepped out to run a few errands. When she got back, there was no daughter. She looked around for a bit, figured the girl might have gone to a neighbour's apartment with some other kid, waited a couple hours, and when Emma didn't come home decided it was time to call the police. They've been out asking questions around the neighbouring apartments, but haven't turned up anything. The mother, apparently, can't tell them much."  
  
Jack could tell by her tone she wasn't happy with the mother. "What was a six-year-old doing out alone in that part of the city?" he asked.  
  
"What's a six-year-old doing being left alone, period?" Samantha retorted, her tone critical. Yup, Jack thought, definitely not happy with her. "What do we know about the family?"  
  
"That should all be coming via fax as we speak," Samantha replied. "The guy I was talking to from NYPD was in a hurry. Apparently this isn't their only problem today."  
  
Jack grunted. "No kidding. Does Van Doren know about this?"  
  
Samantha's expression changed slightly. "Not yet. They called us directly."  
  
Jack's dark eyes glinted with a sudden touch of humour. "You mean Detective Keller called you directly," he said.  
  
The young woman smiled sweetly, showing neat, even white teeth to their full advantage. "How did you guess? He figured we'd end up with it, so decided to call to let us know."  
  
Jack's lips turned upward in amusement. "He just wanted an excuse to talk to his girlfriend. He knows better than to ignore protocol, though," he said, his expression sobering. "Tell him if we're going to look into it, he needs to get the paperwork sent to Van Doren so she can give it her seal of approval. We need it all filled out, so we're nice and legal. The last thing we need is to look as though we're stepping on someone's toes."  
  
Samantha nodded and headed for the phone. Leave it to Jack to remember the sometimes difficult balancing game the FBI played with the NYPD in matters of jurisdiction.  
  
She smiled ruefully. Leave it to Keller to forget.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Ten minutes later, she was back in Jack's office. "Here it all is, or at least what they have so far," she said, holding out a file.  
  
Jack looked up and lifted a hand to take it. "I checked with Danny," he told her. "He's still got a couple hours of work before he's finished with the Donovan case. Vivian and Pete are still out interviewing the Stervel family. For now, this is all ours."  
  
Samantha smiled. "How's Pete doing, anyways?"  
  
Pete was their latest rookie. He was so wet behind the ears it made Jack cringe sometimes, but Jack was also a good enough judge of character to know that whatever growing pains the young man put the FBI through, it would be worth it in the end. The kid had the potential to make a damned fine agent. It remained to be seen, however, if Missing Persons was the place for him to become one.  
  
Jack grunted. "Ask Danny."  
  
Samantha burst out with a trill of laughter. Covering her mouth, her eyes glistened. "Sorry."  
  
Jack's expression mirrored her amusement. "I had to give him to Vivian for a while. He's a good kid, but if there are two people who could be profiled as complete opposites, it's Pete and Danny." He shook his head. "They'll come around eventually, but something tells me Pete's ego and Danny's patience are both going to take serious beatings."  
  
"It'll do them both good," Samantha commented. Thinking of how new Pete was, she added, "The adjustment period is always hard." Not that she'd had any difficulties when she'd arrived. She held Jack's gaze for an extra heartbeat, glad for his making her introduction to the team so effortless. She was a lucky woman. Smiling, she exhaled softly and got back to business.  
  
"That's all they had to send us, so far," she said, gesturing towards the file. "Van Doren should receive her official request soon."  
  
She watched as Jack perused the papers she'd passed him, his face grown solemn. She enjoyed their moments of lighthearted camaraderie. They didn't occur often, but in the months since she'd joined the team, she'd come to appreciate the unexpected humour that sometimes sprang up between them. It, and the talks they occasionally had about life in general, had helped her keep her perspective during the more difficult cases.  
  
She'd never worked in this type of environment before, wasn't even certain it was typical of every Missing Persons department, but she liked it. A lot. For the first time in her life, work was where she'd rather be. It meant that her personal life was taking a beating, but then, she and Keller didn't seem to be going anywhere, anyways. Jack might joke about him, but she was certain even he knew there was nothing there, not really. She sighed happily. She was working a job she loved in a great environment with people she liked. Romance could wait.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
With the team finally all back together and sitting at the conference table expectantly, Jack stood in front of the white board and spoke.  
  
"Emma Matthews. Six years old. In and out of foster homes as her mother's fluctuating ability and desire to care for her dictates, but presently living with her at 1245 Cuthrow."  
  
"Her mother," he continued, "is Stephanie Matthews, 24, unmarried, unemployed..."  
  
Jack saw Samantha frown as he recapped the circumstances of Emma's existence. She'd shown unaccustomed emotion when they'd reviewed the case together earlier...  
  
(Flashback) ...Jack had been leaning against her desk as he read from the latest report the NYPD had forwarded to them. "The police report notes that Emma was supposed to be attending St. Mary's Elementary, but hasn't been there for almost two weeks," Jack told her. Shaking his head, he continued, "The mother said she found it difficult to get up that early in order to get her ready. Children's Services was sent out to have a talk with the mother the first of this week. Emma was expected at school tomorrow."  
  
Samantha made a grunt of disapproval. "I don't understand why parents who can't or won't care for their children insist on keeping them," she declared, putting her pen down on her desk with a clatter. "It doesn't make sense." Pushing her chair back from her desk so that she could look up at him more directly, she rested her elbows on the arms of her chair. Spreading her hands apart expressively, she asked, "Why not let people who could love and care for them have them? Why make their little lives miserable?"  
  
He shrugged. "Blood is thicker than water. Or brains, sometimes. You can't understand the ties you feel to your own offspring, I guess, until you have one of your own." He watched as something flashed in her eyes but it was gone too quickly for him to read. Feeling something was amiss, however, he asked, "Are you all right with this case? Would you rather concentrate on something else? I could trade you with Danny."  
  
She shook her head no. "I'm okay. I was just commenting, that's all."  
  
Glad without consciously knowing why, Jack nodded...  
  
(Present) ...Now, looking across at her, he again felt relief that she'd chosen to stay on the case. They'd been working together a lot since she'd arrived: first because she was the new kid who needed to be trained, and then because as the cases came up, that's how the manpower had fallen. Now, after more than a year, they went out together because it felt right. He'd pretty much reached the point where he couldn't imagine working closely with anyone else. Their rapport seemed instinctive, and in his line of work, when that happened you appreciated it.  
  
"Does her mother have a habit?"  
  
Pete Fergusson's question broke into Jack's thoughts. Ignoring the frown Danny aimed at the young agent, Jack answered patiently, "That's just one of the things we're going to find out. Samantha and I are on our way to talk to the mother and ask some questions at their apartment building. Just so you know: a Kleenex was found on the ground near the swings with blood on it. It may be nothing, it may be something. CSI's analyzing it now. Whatever, it may be another piece in the puzzle." Turning towards Danny, Jack said, "Danny, if you've got the paperwork finished on the Donovan case, we need you over at the school. Check out her teachers and the parents of her friends, in case they've noticed anything out of the ordinary. You know the drill."  
  
Danny nodded. Looking at his wristwatch, he rose. "I'd better get a move on, if I want to find anyone still there. The paperwork, by the way, is on your desk." Looking at those still seated, he smiled a farewell and left.  
  
Turning to Pete and Vivian, Jack said, "I need you two to fill me in on what you've got on the Stervel case." He turned his gaze towards Samantha, and was not surprised when she spoke before he could.  
  
"I'll phone children's services to give them a heads up we'll be coming their way," she said quickly. "We'll need to talk to Emma's case worker and her most recent foster parents." She smiled at the subtle look of approval he gave her. "Come get me when you're ready to go talk with the mother." With that, she stood and made her way over to her desk.  
  
Waving a hand at the two remaining agents, Jack indicated his office. "Let's get this over with."  
  
End Chapter 1 Shelter 


	2. shelter 2

Shelter Chapter 2 By: Mariel  
  
10 HOURS MISSING 6:30 p.m.  
  
Interviewing Emma's mother provided them with little new information. Stephanie Matthews still wasn't certain what her daughter had been wearing when she left the house that morning. She had no idea when her daughter might have left the apartment, except that it must have been between her own 8:00 a.m. departure and 11:00 a.m. return. She confirmed that her daughter's blue windbreaker was missing, and that she was likely wearing a pair of jeans. She had no idea what top she might have been wearing. Emma'd only been back with her a month or so, and every time she went to a foster home, she came back with new clothes. How, she asked in a defensive tone, was she supposed to keep track of everything? Looking at the clock on her VCR, she asked how much more they wanted to know. There wasn't, she said, that much you could say about a six-year-old.  
  
Jack and Samantha shared a dark-eyed glance. The mother was not showing a great amount of concern over her daughter's whereabouts. The report given by the neighbour who'd seen Emma walking towards the swing set shortly after 8:30 that morning had provided as reliable a description as anything they had gotten from the girl's mother. That meant they were looking for a six year old brown-eyed, blonde-haired girl in a navy windbreaker and pale blue jeans. No one knew for sure what she was wearing for a shirt, but at least the mother was certain she had been wearing dirty navy-blue sneakers with velcro closures.  
  
They were the only pair of shoes her daughter owned.  
  
"Is there a relative who might have come by and taken her somewhere?" Samantha asked. "A friend of yours, maybe, or a neighbour? Her father, perhaps?"  
  
It had, after all, been only ten hours or so since Emma had gone missing. A long time, perhaps, but strange things had been known to happen. There was always a chance that an aunt had come by, found Emma alone, decided to take her to the grocery store or something, and then met with some crisis that had prevented her from contacting the mother to let her know where her daughter was.  
  
Stephanie, however, shook her head. Fingering the frayed sleeve of her low- cut, too-tight sweater, she glanced at the clock again and then said, "No. I don't have family here in New York, and Emma and her father wouldn't know each other if they fell over each other." She shrugged. "The police have already checked with all the neighbours."  
  
"Has the father had any contact with Emma at all?" Samantha asked.  
  
Not since she was about two, Stephanie reported. "He's somewhere north of here, in the country," she said, her heavily made up eyes flashing. Tossing her head and making her dangling earrings clang, she told Samantha, "Got himself a new woman, from what I hear, and set himself up pretty. Doesn't have time for his little girl back in New York." Contradicting herself immediately, she then said, "He wanted me to fly Emma up to see them, but I said no way. If he wants to see her, he can damn well come here. Why should Emma be jet-setting all over the place? Besides, they're strangers to her. It wouldn't be right."  
  
"We'll need his name and address, if you have it," Samantha said, unsurprised that though the woman didn't like the idea of Emma travelling to see a father she barely knew, she didn't seem to mind her being taken in and out of foster homes where she knew no one at all.  
  
The dark-haired young woman eventually found Emma's father's address after a search through a couple of cardboard boxes she kept under her unmade bed. "Good luck trying to find him," she told them, handing over a crumpled piece of paper. "That's almost a year old. He's never stayed in one place too long. I doubt he's still there."  
  
"So you haven't heard from him recently?"  
  
"No. Why would I?" she asked, raking bone-thin fingers through her tangled hair. "Sonofabitch. If he paid me better child support, maybe they wouldn't keep coming and taking Emma away every time I turn around."  
  
Jack and Samantha were both aware of the reasons Emma was so frequently removed from Stephanie's home. They had nothing to do with child support and much to do with child neglect and the mother's close association with drugs, alcohol, and prostitution. Stephanie Matthews, they had quickly learned, was a whole cornucopia of issues all by herself.  
  
Taking one last look around the dirty, rundown apartment, they said 'thank you' and left.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
When they stepped outside, darkness had fallen and a cold breeze rushed up the street towards them. Jack saw Samantha hunch her shoulders against it and smiled inwardly. The light coat she was wearing was fashionable, form- fitting, and, in his opinion, looked wonderful on her. It was definitely not suitable for the weather they were experiencing, though. Keeping his observations to himself, however, he told Samantha, "We'll look at the mother a little more, and have some of her 'friends' checked out tomorrow. The father's a possibility. I don't think the mother's telling us the full story there. Maybe he didn't like the way she was taking care of Emma and decided to just come and take her."  
  
He paused to flip open his cell phone and called Danny. After giving the other agent the father's name, address, and phone number, he finished the conversation by saying, "We'll be here for a while more. Let me know what you get."  
  
As Jack folded his phone up and clipped it back onto his belt, Samantha looked along the street. "The police checked the neighbours. Why don't we talk to the store owners along here?" she asked. "Someone may have seen Emma walk by." Jack nodded and looked across the busy street at a diner with a large piece of plywood bandaging one of its broken, dirty windows. "I'd suggest we stop to eat somewhere, but I think maybe we'll wait."  
  
Samantha's eyes followed his gaze across the street. A red neon 'open' sign flickered uncertainly in the rundown establishment's door, obviously unconvinced of the message it was sending. What she could see of the inside from where they stood looked no more encouraging. "Thanks," she murmured dryly. "I'm hungry, but not that hungry." The roaches inside, she decided, were probably as big as small cats.  
  
Dinner postponed, the two agents took stock of their surroundings. The cold air held an edge of foul smells. Pushed by exhaust-laden wind, wrappers and pages of old newspapers and flyers skittered by their feet. Garbage cans placed against the front of the apartment building were full, with bags of refuse fallen onto the sidewalk, their contents spilled. Already, there was a drunk lying propped up against the steps they'd walked down to reach the sidewalk. Two heavily made-up teenage girls strolled by, arm in arm, hair long, skirts short, obviously waiting for a car to slow down, check them out, and ask them their price. Under the halo of a flickering street light, a group of youths hung out on the nearest corner, swearing loudly and pushing each other in displays of machismo. What few pedestrians there were gave them a wide berth as they walked by. Samantha shuddered. The street was as desolate and dirty as the small park Emma had disappeared from. Unconsciously, she took a step closer to Jack.  
  
"Which way?" he asked, "Right, or left?"  
  
Samantha paused and looked around. First, she looked in the opposite direction from where the young men stood. Then, thinking better of it, she turned back to look at the group huddled at the corner. "Let's talk to them, first."  
  
Jack raised a surprised eyebrow, then nodded. As they neared the group of teens, Samantha began to think questioning them might not have been the smartest thing she'd ever thought of. As though sensing they had been singled out, the young men turned in unison as she and Jack approached them, watching in sullen silence as they drew to a stop in front of them.  
  
Holding out Emma's picture, Jack casually asked if any of them had noticed her out that morning.  
  
At first, his question was met with silence, then: "What you lookin' f'little girls for?" one of the young men drawled. Making a great display of looking Samantha up and down, he smacked his lips appreciatively and shook his closely shaven head. "Yo woman looks jus' fine," he said with a grin. "I had myself somethin' looked that good, no way I'd be out on the street walkin'. You should be home, keepin' her warm, man." Glancing around at his friends, he jabbed the nearest one with his elbow and then rubbed his hands together. "And I know jus' how I'd be doin' that!" After the expected snickers from his buddies, he stepped forward. Looking from one side to the other, he said in a lower tone, "You want somethin' to make your time with her more fun, maybe? How 'bout I help you out? Get you a li'l spice to go with d'sugar? I can get you just 'bout anythin' you want, for the right price." Jack glanced at Samantha, who rolled her eyes. He shook his head. The kid was an idiot and trying way too hard with the tough street thug act. Reaching into his overcoat, he flipped them his badge, then said in an even tone, "How about I forget what you just said and you think a little harder about seeing this girl."  
  
"Her name's Emma," Samantha piped up, regarding the youth steadily. "She went missing this morning from the apartment building just over there," she added, indicating Emma's building with a backward jab of her thumb.  
  
The young man sobered slightly. Forgetting, for a moment, to use the full complement of his street lingo, he said, "This is no place for a kid to be out alone, man." He looked at the picture, then shook his head. "I never seen her before." Turning to his buddies, he asked, "Yo seen this kid?" They all looked at the picture Jack held up for them and then shook their heads. Their leader shrugged. Resuming his street-wise, bad-boy persona, he told Jack, "You ain't gonna find nobody tonight." Jerking his head towards Samantha, he grinned, "She's startin' to look a little cold. You'd do better to be gettin' home and workin' on warming her up, man."  
  
Trying hard to ignore the image that rose in his mind at the boy's words, Jack raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for the advice. I'll get right on that," he said, his tone sardonic. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a card. "Call us if you think of anything or hear something. She's only six. She could probably use some help."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
They had barely stepped out of hearing distance when Samantha purposely bumped up against Jack with her shoulder. "Thanks for the advice, I'll get right on that?!" she repeated, her voice rising. "You told him 'thanks for the advice, I'll get right on that'?!" She gave a muffled choke of laughter and leaned against him slightly as they continued to walk away. "Jack! My God!"  
  
"It was all I could think of," Jack admitted, feeling foolish. "The kid was an idiot," he added, speaking his earlier thought aloud. "What was I supposed to say?"  
  
"I dunno. Maybe something like, 'we're professionals, we don't do that' or 'get your mind out of the gutter a moment and think straight'?" She looked up at him and grinned. "Not that I don't appreciate the concern over my body temperature!" She shook her head. "It never ceases to amaze me where teenage boys' minds spend all their time."  
  
Jack looked down at Samantha and out of the blue came the thought that a man would be lucky to be able to wrap his arms around her. She smiled at him and he wondered what her hair would feel like against his cheek. He glanced away quickly. Disconcerted, he said, "Let's go question some storekeepers." Then, because he couldn't help himself, he added, "After that, as an apology from all mankind, I'll take you for something to eat."  
  
15 HOURS MISSING 11:30 p.m.  
  
Samantha sat back from her desk and tapped her pencil on the arm of her chair. They would be speaking with Emma's case worker and her last two sets of foster parents first thing the next morning. Danny was still trying to track down the father, and Vivian and Pete had left for home hours ago, knowing they were expected in very early the next morning. She sighed. Going home herself would be the sensible thing to do. Somehow, though, it didn't feel right to leave. Rising, she walked over to the white board and examined Emma Matthew's picture again, memorizing the sprinkled freckles scattered over the small nose and the bright brown eyes hovering over an open smile. Sadness welled up inside her. Danny had reported that her teachers said Emma was a bright little girl who didn't suffer as much academically from her irregular attendance as a less able child would have. She was quiet, but eager to please, and polite. She got along well with adults and other children. "She's an absolute pet," Danny had quoted one of her teachers as saying. "You'd never know from her disposition the kind of life that mother of hers puts her through."  
  
Looking at the girl's picture, Samantha imagined her on the swing set outside her dingy apartment building. Something had happened, and someone had seen it. The blood on the Kleenex had been Emma's - that had been confirmed by the lab only hours ago. The Kleenex indicated that someone had been careful of her. She frowned. Someone had stopped when Emma had fallen and scraped her palm, or knee, or done whatever that had made her bleed, and helped her.  
  
So what had happened next? Why had no one-  
  
"What are you doing still here?"  
  
She turned towards the warm, familiar voice. "Hey," she said quietly.  
  
"Hey, yourself," he replied in an equally soft tone. "Why aren't you home?"  
  
She liked the way his voice felt. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Why aren't you?"  
  
He shrugged, and, as she'd grown to expect, said nothing. He opened up only rarely about his personal life, and she never, ever, asked questions. Sometimes, she felt that by not allowing their personal lives to enter their working relationship, it made them closer. They created their own reality when they worked together, one that protected them, for a time, from other parts of their lives that were not so pleasant. That he was not happy, however, seemed obvious to her, and that he was avoiding whatever problems he had instead of facing them also seemed evident.  
  
He hitched himself up to sit on the table. Hands grasping the edges to each side of him, he leaned forward and rested his weight on them. "You're wondering what happened to her after the person who used the Kleenex came along," he said.  
  
She nodded. Walking away from the board, she moved to mirror his position on the table beside him. They both stared silently at the board and its meager assortment of information for a long moment.  
  
"This one is bothering you," he said, his voice still soft.  
  
She nodded.  
  
Looking down, he covered her left hand where it held the edge of the table next to his.  
  
Her body reacting to his casual touch in unexpected ways, she glanced at him quickly. Fighting a surprising urge to lean against him, she stilled, her heart pounding.  
  
After giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, he gripped the table edge again and said, "You have to prepare yourself for the worst, but you can't allow yourself to expect it, Samantha. We'll find her."  
  
"She's so little. It doesn't seem fair," she said, missing the warmth of his hand over hers. "She hasn't had a fair chance at life. And now-" She let out a heavy breath of air.  
  
"And now she's got us looking for her. We'll find her. Something happened, and somewhere, somehow, we'll find the clue that will take us to her."  
  
She knew that, but couldn't stop the images of all the horrible things that might have happened - or be happening - to Emma from racing through her head. "She's so little..." she murmured.  
  
"I know," Jack said in a quiet tone.  
  
They allowed silence to blanket them comfortably for a while, then Jack slowly shifted, and said, "It's time for you to go home. Come on. We'll walk out together." He slid off the table and turned towards her expectantly.  
  
Samantha regarded him, her dark eyes serious. Thinking he was an unexpectedly kind man, she nodded slowly. As they walked towards where Samantha had left her coat, she felt a warmth flow through her as she recognised the comfort his words gave her. Or perhaps it was not so much his words as it was his presence. Or maybe, she thought, glancing sideways at him as he helped her with her coat, it was just him. The whole package.  
  
The thought set off an unaccustomed flutter in her stomach.  
  
The flutter increased with the wish that they were not going separate ways.  
  
End Chapter 2 Shelter 


	3. shelter 3

Shelter by: Mariel Chapter 3  
  
23 HOURS MISSING  
  
By 7:30 a.m. the next morning, Jack had already reviewed the previous day's findings with everyone. Vivian and Pete in particular listened attentively. They were winding down the Stervel case, and would begin helping with Emma Matthews' case later that day. Jack gave them instructions to phone him as soon as they had finished, and suggested that when they had, they should prepare themselves to investigate the mother's friends and acquaintances, to see if any of them might be worthy of suspicion.  
  
That said, Vivian and Pete rose to leave. Leaning back in his chair, Danny watched them go, then turned to Jack. Looking frustrated, he said, "It doesn't make sense that no one saw her after she went into that park. The swing set is in plain sight of anyone walking by. Someone had to have noticed her. That street's always got people walking around."  
  
"You're right," Jack agreed, "which is why you'll be down there questioning everyone from the homeless guy sleeping on the vent outside the corner store to the people at the bus stop down the street. We know she was outside early - there must be regular transit users waiting at that bus stop who saw something. They'd have been long gone by the time the police were contacted, though, so no one's questioned them. You get to do that this morning." Picking up his pen, he continued, "Before you go, though, I want you to go over what you found out about the father again."  
  
Danny leaned forward, placing his forearms firmly on the table in front of him. Not needing to consult his notes, he began his review quickly. "Like I said, Frank Roberts is still living at the address Stephanie Matthews gave you. He wasn't home, but I spoke to a woman who said she was his wife. It sounds like his life is a little more stable now than it was when he was with Stephanie Matthews. He's been working for the same trucking firm for over a year, has bought a house, has an infant son, and, according to aforementioned wife, he's hauling computer components to Florida at the moment. She's not expecting him back for another couple of days. I asked about his relationship with his daughter, but she didn't seem to know much, just that Emma existed, and that he rarely saw her. She admitted that he sometimes talked about visiting her, but since they have a child of their own, I don't think the wife was very interested in encouraging that."  
  
Nodding thoughtfully, Jack mentally tracked the father's route south and decided Frank Roberts could have detoured to New York and picked up his daughter. Making a note on the pad in front of him, he asked, "Did you get the name of the company he's working for?"  
  
"McGrath's International Trucking. There was no answer there last night, but I'm going to call them on my way over to Cuthrow. I figure there's always a chance he could have made a detour here on his way south."  
  
Jack smiled inwardly at their similar thoughts. "Sounds like a plan," he said in an approving tone. Picking up the paper he'd been writing on, he moved his chair back slightly. "Samantha and I are heading over to Children's Services to meet with Emma's case worker," he said. "After that, we're interviewing a couple of the foster parents. I'm not sure when we'll be back, so keep in touch." He rose, then remembered one more thing. "And just so that you know, the police spent the night looking up sex offenders in the area. Nothing turned up of interest. Everyone local was where they should be."  
  
He'd received the information with relief, though totally aware that it didn't mean as much as he would have liked it to. There was every chance that Emma had been taken, molested, and was dead by now.  
  
Turning to Samantha, he said, "Get your coat. I'd like to get down there as early as possible."  
  
Danny looked at Jack curiously. There was something subtly different in his boss' manner today. Pausing a moment to consider what it might be, he shrugged when nothing came to mind. Gathering up his paper and pen, he turned his thoughts towards the day's agenda and the questions he would ask.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The car felt cold, and Samantha folded her arms in front of her. When she glanced at Jack, however, her thoughts were less on her dropping body temperature and more on the man beside her. He hadn't said much since they'd started driving, and she wondered at the quiet. "It's bothering you, too," she said in a soft voice.  
  
Jack recognised his own words echoing back to him from the previous night. He continued driving for a while without speaking. He wasn't used to having someone read him so easily, and certainly wasn't accustomed to the way she not only pinpointed his feelings, but dared to verbalize them, as well. She had done that almost from the beginning, and there was an intimacy to it that attracted him, made him want to relax and be with her just for the sake of the honesty. It felt good, in a strange way he couldn't yet define, but it also elicited thoughts and feelings that were new to him... and which he recognised as dangerous.  
  
Finally, he nodded, then admitted, "Yeah."  
  
"Because of Hannah and Kate?" she guessed quietly.  
  
He shrugged. "Probably." There was another moment of silence, then he said, "It makes you wonder: here's a kid without any of what you'd consider the advantages of life - dirt-poor, a troubled, neglectful mother, no father to speak of, shoved from one foster home to another when her mother isn't in the mood to care for her - and yet anyone you talk to about her remarks on how well-adjusted she is for her age. What a joy she is. How strong she is. Are they wrong? Or is she really the way they describe her? And if she is, what the hell's she made of?!" Samantha pondered his question a moment. "Certainly more than just sugar and spice," was the only response she offered.  
  
Jack nodded.  
  
"Maybe we just haven't found the one steadying influence in her life that's helped keep her on an even keel," Samantha suggested. "Or perhaps she's just too young to be adversely affected."  
  
Jack pulled to a stop at a red light and turned to raise a sceptical eyebrow at her.  
  
Samantha saw it and nodded. She knew how unlikely Emma remaining unaffected by her life was; there was, after all, no minimum age for psychological harm. She'd seen enough damaged kids to know that. "Okay, so maybe she's simply tougher than most." She paused, picturing the situation in her head. "Even if she's tough, there's someone that had to have taught her how to see things, someone who helped her figure things out. She'd need someone to explain things, make it all simpler for her, less frightening. Someone," she continued, "who gives her protection, makes her feel safe."  
  
Jack, who had been watching her closely as she spoke, nodded in agreement. "A neighbour? Her caseworker, maybe. Or her foster parents. Maybe there was one particular family she went to more than another."  
  
A honk from behind reminded him he was supposed to be paying attention to traffic. Eying the light that now shone green, he eased the car forward, thinking of the look in Samantha's eye as she'd spoken. He wondered if, when she had spoken of adult influence, she had spoken from experience. She'd never said much about her childhood, but he had the impression it hadn't been a particularly easy one. As a child, had she had someone to steady her, to reassure her when life seemed crazy? Opening his mouth to ask, he second guessed himself and closed it firmly.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
24 HOURS MISSING  
  
Emma's caseworker's name was Nancy Shelby. Rising when she saw the two agents arrive at her open office door, she stepped around her desk to greet them. After introductions were made, she indicated two chairs for them to sit in and smoothly returned to her own chair. Leaning forward and resting her forearms on the desk, she clasped her hands in front of her. "You're here about Emma Matthews," she said, her eyes moving from one agent to the other.  
  
Samantha nodded. "She disappeared yesterday morning from the park outside her building." Glancing at Jack, she continued, "We're wondering if you could tell us anything that might help us find her."  
  
Nancy frowned and shook her head. Obviously a person who thought before she spoke, she paused a moment.  
  
In the few seconds she took to consider her response, the two agents regarded her with interest. Sitting in her cramped and cluttered office, the woman looked exactly what she was: a caring, dedicated woman who had endured 'the system' for more than two decades. A halo of brown, curly hair framed a round face softly lined at eyes and mouth. An aura of calm seemed to radiate from her, and she had a worn, tired look about her that might have been mistaken for resignation - until she began to talk about the children under her care. When she spoke about Emma Matthews, her motions became animated, and her hazel eyes sparked with determination, caring, and concern.  
  
She could not, however, give them helpful information. "No, I'm sorry," she finally responded with regret. "I can't think of anything that might help. She's been a regular with us almost since she was born, but I can't think of anything in her history to indicate she'd run away. She's only six, going on seven. Where would she go?"  
  
"We don't necessarily think she ran away," Samantha said quickly. "Perhaps there are people in her life who might be involved?"  
  
Nancy paused, then said, "The people her mother associates with aren't the best influences a child could have, but I don't know names, or anything like that, and the mother hasn't had a regular boyfriend in quite some time, as far as I know." She looked at them, a worried frown making little creases between her brows. "You don't think she's just wandered off, then? You think someone has taken her?"  
  
"We don't know what's happened. She was seen heading towards a swing set outside her building at about 8:30 yesterday morning, and there the trail ends. No one's seen her since," Samantha said.  
  
"We'd like to know about the foster parents she's been with," Jack interjected.  
  
Nancy looked at him in surprise. "The foster parents? I don't think you need suspect any of them. They're very carefully screened."  
  
"We're just looking at all the angles," Jack said. "People often don't know how they'll feel about something until they actually face that something. What if a foster parent decided that they could give her a better life? What if they felt that the only way they could do that was by taking her?"  
  
Nancy shook her head. "No. I can't imagine that. She's been in and out of dozens of places." She looked first at Jack, then at Samantha. "It's not that she's hard to place," she said, as though to reassure them of Emma's good behaviour, "The foster homes we put her in always give glowing reports - but with foster parents being in such short supply, we have to put kids where there's an opening available at that particular time. The chances of her being back to the same place with any frequency isn't great. I can't imagine her building a relationship with any particular set of foster parents."  
  
Samantha looked down at a few notes she held in her hand. Deciding to change tracks for a moment, she commented, "From what we've been told, Emma was placed in her first foster home when she was eight months old, and she's been in and out of them ever since. Why hasn't she been taken from her mother permanently?"  
  
The social worker stiffened. "Our mandate is to keep families intact. Our goal isn't to take children away, it's to put in place a structure that will allow them to live safely with their family." She said the words woodenly, as though knowing that although noble in intent, the mandate did not always place the needs of the child first.  
  
"That doesn't seem to be working too well in Emma's case," Samantha said. Sensing more than seeing Jack's warning glance, she inhaled deeply and tried again. Working harder to keep the criticism out of her voice, she looked down at her notes and commented, "The reasons Emma's been taken from the home have been pretty consistent: drugs, neglect, failure to provide, her mother using their apartment for prostitution...."  
  
Nancy nodded. "The prostitution charges were the most recent thing. It allowed us to remove Emma again, but only until the mother stopped bringing the men home, straightened herself out a bit, and asked to have Emma back."  
  
The two agents nodded, recognizing the story as a common one. The mother always wanted the child back, no matter how badly she treated said child when she had it.  
  
Nancy's eyes clouded. "Some mothers try really hard to get their lives on track and provide for their kids. Others just aren't in that space. They talk good, and make wonderful promises, but..." she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sorry, you're not here to listen to this." Spreading her hands, she said, "I'm sorry, I just-" She stiffened, and her eyes widened. Looking at the two agents, she said, "Wait. About a year and a half ago, Emma's mother disappeared for a while, and Emma ended up in a foster home for longer than usual - I think it was about six months. Emma seemed to really love it there, and the foster parents asked if adoption was a possibility. It would have been wonderful for Emma, but..." She looked down at her hands, her voice trailing off. Looking back up at them again, she said firmly, "But I don't think for a moment they would actually take Emma. They've been foster parents with us for years. They're good people."  
  
"We'll need their names and address," Samantha said, her heart beginning to beat more quickly.  
  
Nancy sat back in her chair, obviously regretting she'd said anything.  
  
"We need to speak with them. It's important. You know we can get a subpoena for the information if we need to," Jack told her. "Perhaps they saw something, or perhaps Emma said something that seemed unimportant at the time, but which, given her disappearance, might seem more important now," he said.  
  
Or perhaps, he thought to himself, they had decided that since she wasn't up for adoption, they'd take matters into their own hands.  
  
Nancy relaxed slightly, understanding. Her wooden chair squeaking as she wheeled it away from her desk, she rose and went over to the row of filing cabinets lining one wall of the small office. She opened one of their drawers, fingered through the files a moment, then pulled a particularly thick one out.  
  
Returning, she placed it on her desk and sat down. She opened it up, rifled through it for a moment, then looked up at them with surprise on her face. "Emma was with them again a few months ago. With the Ramseys, I mean. The ones who made the enquiries about adoption," she added for clarification. "I'm just back from an extended leave, so I'm a little behind on who went where... Brenda Hood took my caseload while I was gone. I guess that's why it slipped my mind." She leafed through some notes in the file, then added, "It was only for a short time..." She continued to go through the documents, found what she wanted and after reading it with a slight frown on her face, finished, "She was there for just a week."  
  
Jack and Samantha looked at each other. "We'll need the Ramsey's full names and their address, as well as the names and addresses of the other, most recent foster parents," Samantha said, hope beginning to stir within her.  
  
Nancy began writing information down for the two agents. When she was finished, she held it out. "I've given you the names, addresses and phone numbers of parents she's been with in the past two years. If you need to go back farther, just ask. I've written the length of Emma's stay with each foster family, too, if that helps."  
  
Samantha took the paper and nodded her thanks. "Yes, it does."  
  
Knowing exactly who they would visit first, they thanked the social worker and left feeling that perhaps their search would soon be over.  
  
End Chapter 3 Shelter 


	4. chapter 4

Shelter Chapter 4 By: Mariel  
  
27 HOURS MISSING 11:30 a.m.  
  
Two hours after leaving Nancy Shelby's office, they were standing in front of a small, comfortable looking home in one of the out-skirting suburbs of the city. Looking at the small side yard, which held a swing set and a sandbox, Samantha commented, "Looks like a good place for kids." The contrast between this small, neatly landscaped yard on its quiet, tree- lined street and the garbage-strewn dirt patch Emma played on outside her building was depressing. Samantha pictured the little girl happily running across the lawn towards the swing, and felt a wave of sadness wash over her.  
  
They walked to the front door and, seeing no doorbell, Jack rapped his knuckles on the blue-painted surface. A moment of waiting, and they heard someone call, "I'll be right there!" Another moment, and the door was opened by a smiling, long-haired woman of about thirty-two. Shorter than either agent, she brushed her straight, dark hair back over her shoulders and looked up at them with surprised brown eyes. Stepping back slightly, she said, "Why, hello. May I help you?"  
  
"Are you Diana Ramsey?" Jack asked. When the woman indicated that she was, he identified himself and Samantha. At the mention of 'FBI', Diana looked both curious and relieved. Relief wasn't the reaction they were used to getting when they identified themselves, and it must have shown, because Diana immediately began to explain herself: "I was expecting you to pull out a pamphlet and start discussing the state of my soul." She looked from one trench-coated agent to the other, then hastened to add, "No offence. I mean, I have a lot of appreciation for faith so strong that you're willing to put up with going door to door to spread The Word, but I'm trying to get some things done, and-"  
  
Jack put out his hand quickly. "That's okay," he assured her. "No offence taken. We're wondering if we could come in and talk to you about a little girl you've had in your care - Emma Matthews."  
  
Diana Ramsey stopped talking and her expression changed to one of happy recognition and hope. "Emma? Of course! Come in. Does this mean that things have changed? That the mother might consider adoption?"  
  
Jack and Samantha shared a glance. Either the woman was a very good actress, or she had no idea that Emma was missing.  
  
Moving into the house, Samantha noted packing boxes along the hallway walls. "You're moving?" she asked.  
  
Diana nodded. "Yes. My husband got a transfer." She looked concerned. "Would that affect the adoption?"  
  
Samantha shook her head. Rather than point out that the FBI didn't get involved in adoptions, she simply said, "I'm sorry. We're not here about that - we're here because Emma has disappeared."  
  
Diana stopped dead in her tracks. "What?"  
  
Jack indicated the door leading to what he could see was the living room. "Why don't we have a seat? We'll explain everything we can."  
  
"Oh, of course," the woman said. Walking into the living room, she quickly crossed the floor and removed a pile of cardboard boxes from a love seat set in front of the window. Putting them on the floor, she indicated that they should sit in the newly made space. Sitting on the edge of a large upholstered chair set slightly to their left, she asked, "She's missing?"  
  
"Since yesterday morning," Samantha said. "We know you've been a foster mother to her more than once, and that at one point you had suggested that you would like to adopt her. We thought perhaps you might know something that would help us in looking for her."  
  
Diana shook her head, obviously upset at the thought of Emma being gone. "Yes. We had hoped to adopt her. We had her for almost half a year. She was wonderful. And was so happy here. Greg and I - Greg is my husband - just adored her. She fit in so well that we thought... we'd hoped..." She shrugged, her voice trailing off, her disappointment clear. Inhaling deeply, she continued, "We'd hoped perhaps there was a possibility that we could keep her with us. It didn't work out, though. The mother came back, got herself set up in a new apartment, and was able to look after her, so that was the last we saw of her - until about two months ago. She was here for about a week. It was lovely to have her with us again." She smiled at the memory. "She adapted to being back again as though she'd never left! I was so surprised. A lot of the kids we have come stay with us are sullen, or angry, or suspicious, or any of the other things that it's only natural they'd be if their living conditions are such that they end up in foster care. But not Emma. She just has this way about her, as though it's all an adventure." She stopped talking long enough to take a breath and to look at the two agents. "What can I do to help you?"  
  
"Do you remember Emma saying anything that, though it didn't seem important then, might hold more importance in light of her disappearance?" Samantha asked.  
  
Diana's face took on a look of concentration. Looking past the two agents' heads, she focussed on the view outside the window. Finally, her gaze shifted to them and she shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. Nothing."  
  
"Did she go to school the week she was here?"  
  
Diana shook her head. "No. When I have a child, I like to home school. It's the only way to make things manageable. We don't always know how long we'll have a child with us - it might be a day, a week or several months, like it was with Emma that time." She smiled. "Emma is such a bright little thing. She's very quick."  
  
Samantha nodded. Looking at Jack, they both moved to stand up. Time was running out, and they had more visits to make before the day was over.  
  
"Thank you for your time, Mrs. Ramsey," Samantha said. "If you can think of anything that might help us, we'd appreciate hearing from you." She passed the woman her card. "You can reach us here. Perhaps your husband might recall something."  
  
Diana nodded, looking down at the card. "I will. I'm very sorry I can't be more helpful. It's just that I don't remember her really talking about anyone, except her caseworkers and a little friend she had who lived next door to her."  
  
Samantha looked interested. "A friend? Do you remember the friend's name?" Stephanie Matthews had said she didn't think her daughter had any particular friends in the building.  
  
Diana paused a moment, then put up her hands, palms up. "No, I'm sorry. Sophie, maybe, or Sarah? I'm not sure. I should have paid more attention."  
  
"If you think of it, please call us. It could help," Jack said, not recalling either name having come up during any of the interviews that had been conducted. He moved towards the front door.  
  
In moments, they were driving away.  
  
Samantha sighed. "At least that's one off our list."  
  
Jack grunted. "I dunno. They're moving. What's to say they haven't taken Emma and plan to set up home wherever they're moving to with her as part of the family? It would make sense. We're going to have to take a look at Mr. Ramsey. And put their house under surveillance."  
  
"Just on the strength of your suspicions?"  
  
"I'm not even sure I have suspicions, but I need to be sure."  
  
Samantha nodded. "We still haven't heard from Danny about the father," she said, thinking of their only other suspect.  
  
"We'll give him a call if we haven't heard from him in the next thirty minutes," Jack said. Giving a quick glance at his watch, he said, "We should stop somewhere for lunch. I don't know when we'll be back at the office, and the next two stops are in opposite parts of the city."  
  
"You won't get an argument from me. I've been hungry since about eleven," Samantha said.  
  
"Then we'll stop sooner, as opposed to later," Jack promised. "You know this area?"  
  
She shook her head. "Let's just stop at the first place that doesn't look like that dive on Cuthrow," she said.  
  
Jack grinned. "Sometimes the best food is found in a restaurant with a little dirt in the corners."  
  
"Jack, there was more than just a little dirt in that place. It was disgusting. I mean, there are standards! Where are the health inspectors?!"  
  
He looked at her with interest, a hint of humour glinting in his eyes. "I didn't know that restaurants were one of your picky points."  
  
"If you took me to dinner more, you'd discover all sorts of things you don't know about me," she grinned, not thinking of what she was saying until the words hung in the air between them. She immediately realised they sounded like an invitation - and just as quickly realised she didn't mind. She held his gaze. He could take her words as he liked, because she knew if she was being honest, she wanted more of his time and attention. It wasn't right, maybe, but it was as it was.  
  
Jack turned his eyes away. "Maybe it's time I rectified that," he said in a dry tone, turning the car smoothly into the parking lot of a small diner.  
  
She looked at him, wondering at his words. His features, however, gave nothing away. Wishing she could see his eyes, she began to undo her seatbelt as he drove into a parking spot.  
  
* * *  
  
Sitting in a booth built for two, Jack took a sip of coffee and asked, "So, who do we see next?"  
  
Samantha checked her notes. "David and Shelly Smith, and then Lyle and Kendra Newell."  
  
When she told them their addresses, Jack nodded. "We should be finished by about 5:00, if traffic is good and they're home when they said they would be."  
  
Samantha shrugged. "I left messages. Hopefully they'll be there."  
  
They sat quietly for a while, sipping coffee while waiting for their meal. Reluctant to break the companionable silence, but feeling she should make conversation, Samantha eventually asked, "Is there something you need to get home for? Is that why you want to be finished by 5:00?"  
  
Jack shook his head. He looked down at his coffee mug a moment, then raised dark eyes to meet hers. "I thought if we were done early enough, I could take you somewhere decent for dinner. Unless you have plans."  
  
Samantha felt something warm slowly blossom inside her. "No," she replied quickly, "Dinner would be great." Glancing at the menu sitting on their table, she added dryly, "It'd be nice to eat a meal that didn't require catsup to make it edible."  
  
They smiled at one another, knowing that something was happening here that probably shouldn't. Whatever it was, however, they were moving headlong for it, and whatever the dangers of it was seeming less and less important.  
  
End Chapter 4 Shelter 


	5. shelter 5

Shelter by: Mariel Chapter 5  
  
29 HOURS MISSING 1:30 p.m.  
  
Jack and Samantha sat in the Smiths' neat, comfortable home doing their best to cover their surprise.  
  
"I'm sorry," David Smith repeated. "Our oldest daughter took the message and didn't catch the name of the child you wanted to talk to us about," he explained. "If we'd known, we could have saved you the trip here. We had someone with us the weekend you're talking about, but it was a little boy." He glanced at his wife. "Brian, was his name, right?" At his wife's nod, he turned back to look at the two agents. "I don't think we've ever had an Emma stay with us. Not for a long time, anyways. I'm sorry we can't help you, but we don't know anything about her at all."  
  
Samantha checked the list that Nancy Shelby had written for her. "I'm sorry. I don't know what could have happened. It's definitely your name Mrs. Shelby gave us. There must be some mistake somewhere."  
  
David rose and went to a large writing desk beside the door leading to the hallway. Opening it up, he removed a file folder and returned with it in his hand. He sat down, then removed several forms from it. Passing them to Samantha, he said, "Here's the paperwork concerning that week and a few of the ones before and since then. There was no Emma," he said.  
  
Samantha glanced at the names and dates and then passed everything to Jack for him to see. "We're sorry for interrupting your afternoon," she told the Smiths. She looked at Jack and raised an eyebrow. When he looked up from the documents and nodded slightly, she began their goodbyes.  
  
Once the front door of the Smith home had closed behind them and they were out on the sidewalk, Samantha consulted her notepad and then flipped open her cell phone. She waited a moment, then said to Jack, "There's no answer at Nancy's office."  
  
"She only came in to speak with us. She said she was out in the field today. You have her cell phone number with you?"  
  
Samantha looked through the pages of her notepad. Finally, she nodded. "Yup. Let me give it a try." Again, she waited for a moment, then looked at him and said, "All I get is her voice mail."  
  
"Leave a message," Jack told her. "Tell her we want her to phone us as soon as possible. It's probably only a paper snafau, but we've got to speak to whoever actually had Emma with them that weekend."  
  
While Samantha did as he asked, they continued to walk towards their parked car. Jack looked at his watch and frowned. Thirty hours missing, and they had this mess to sort out. That critical 48 hour mark was fast approaching. He quickened his pace, calculating how long it would take to get to the Newells' home.  
  
* * *  
  
3:00 p.m. Sitting with Samantha in the small living room of Lyle and Kendra Newell's apartment, Jack worked to keep his expression neutral. "Emma Matthews didn't spend several days with you about three weeks ago?" he asked. "Her caseworker gave your name as her most recent foster parents."  
  
Kendra and Lyle both shook their heads. "We had a little girl here, yes - but she was eight, and her name was Paula," Lyle said. "I'm sorry. I should have called you back when I got the message, but I thought someone has simply called the wrong number or read the wrong name."  
  
Looking at the agents and then at her husband, Kendra Newell rose. "I've got the papers in the kitchen. Let me get them for you. Just a minute."  
  
In a short moment, she was back, proffering several documents. A quick glance at them proved that the Newells were right. A Paula Johanson had stayed with them for three days. Another look, and Jack saw that Emma's name did not appear on any of the forms Kendra had given him.  
  
"We're sorry to have bothered you," Jack apologised, now wondering if this was something more sinister than a paper mistake. He sent a glance in Samantha's direction and saw his concern reflected in her eyes.  
  
* * *  
  
Walking to their car, Samantha took her cell phone away from her ear and said, "Nancy Shelby's still not answering her phone."  
  
Rising suspicion made Jack's response clipped. "She'd better show up soon. She has some answering to do." Reaching the car, he looked over its roof at her. "Let's head back to speak to Diana Ramsey again. Her husband might be home now, and if they had Emma for six months, they must have gotten to know Nancy, too. They may know something. He shook his head as he opened his car door. "We're missing something somewhere."  
  
She looked at him sharply as she slid into her seat, following his thoughts easily. "So we add Nancy to our list of suspects. Are we taking the Ramseys' off?"  
  
He turned the key in the ignition. "They're all suspects: the father, the Ramseys, and now, so is Nancy Shelby. I want you to call Vivian. She and Pete can have a look into Nancy's life. Get them to call Social Services and speak to her supervisor, too. Something's not right here."  
  
Samantha nodded and speed-dialled Vivian's phone. While she waited for it to ring, she asked, "Do you want me to call the Ramseys to let them know we're on the way?"  
  
"Let's surprise them," Jack replied, lapsing into silence as he concentrated on the traffic.  
  
After she had spoken with Vivian, Samantha sighed and looked out the passenger window. It had gotten colder, and the first, tiny snowflakes of winter had begun to fall. She hoped Emma wasn't outside somewhere.  
  
***  
  
THIRTY-TWO HOURS MISSING 4:30 p.m.  
  
As they walked to the Ramseys' door, both Samantha and Jack noticed a black sedan parked discreetly across the street and one house down. Through the darkly tinted windows, they could just barely make out the form of someone sitting behind the wheel. Without looking at it directly, Jack commented. "It didn't take them long to get someone here."  
  
Reaching the front door, he paused before knocking. "Do me a favour, and while we're in here, see if you can manage to take a look around."  
  
Samantha nodded, understanding what he wanted. "We need to phone Danny again, too," she reminded him. "He hasn't called, and he wasn't answering his cell." She knew it was likely his blasted cell battery dying again, but it still wasn't like him not to call in.  
  
"It's likely his battery," Jack said, reflecting her thoughts, "He's gotta go down and get a new one. This one is driving everyone nuts. We'll call the office when we're finished here to see if he's left a message." He paused. While running over the questions he would have to ask once inside, he unconsciously noted the way a few, small snowflakes clung persistently to her hair. Resisting the urge to reach out and brush them away, he smiled as her eyes touched his, and asked, "Ready?"  
  
At her nod, he raised his hand to knock on the door.  
  
* * *  
  
"Her caseworker is wonderful," Diana told them. "She really put an effort into seeing that Emma was doing okay, that she didn't feel as though she'd just been dropped here. She commented more than once how happy she was that Emma was doing so well, and about how pleased she was with the way Emma was adapting to being away from her mother for such a long period of time."  
  
"She came to visit often?" Jack asked, covering his surprise.  
  
Diana nodded and looked at her husband. "You were here some of the times I wasn't, but I'd guess at least once, sometimes twice a week, wouldn't you, hon?" she asked him.  
  
Keith Ramsey had arrived home to find his wife and the two agents drinking coffee at the kitchen table. After greeting Samantha and Jack, he had poured a cup of coffee for himself and joined them. The contrast between wife and husband was remarkable: Keith, Jack estimated, was about six foot three in height, large featured, and ponderous in his movements. His wife was at least a foot shorter, petite, and filled with nervous energy. Both, however, were open and friendly and willing to talk.  
  
Keith nodded his dark-haired head at his wife's question. Wrapping large hands around his mug of coffee, he rested his thick forearms on the table and said in a gravelly-sounding voice, "It was good to see someone so caring. Sometimes I feel as though these kids are just case files to the workers looking after them. I know it's because of the numbers of kids they have to be responsible for, and I know it must be a really depressing job at times, but still...it's nice to see someone who hasn't had the hope kicked out of them. She really puts everything she's got into caring for these kids."  
  
"So it's unusual to have that much contact between caseworker and child?" Samantha asked.  
  
"I'd say so, yes," he said, nodding. "Most of the time, they're only here to drop the child off and to pick them up when the stay is over. We don't usually see them in between, unless it's an extended stay. They call, of course, but that's all. There wouldn't be enough hours in a day to do more than that, considering how many kids they have on their workload."  
  
"But she did more than that for Emma."  
  
Diana nodded. Dark eyes glowing, she smiled as she said, "She was like a favourite aunt, or something. Emma loved it when she visited. She'd run and get her brush." She paused, then explained, "Emma loved doing people's hair. She said she was going to be a hairdresser when she grew up, and never tired of practicing on anyone who would let her! She loved doing Brenda's hair, especially, because it was so long."  
  
Samantha blinked. "Brenda?"  
  
Diana nodded, uncertain of why Samantha asked.  
  
Samantha frowned and shot a quick look at Jack. "I'm sorry," she finally said, "I thought you were talking about Nancy Shelby."  
  
Now it was Diana's turn to look confused. "No, Brenda Hood was the caseworker who came out. She was wonderful. She and Emma got along like a house on fire, and I really think it was because they had such a good relationship that Emma coped so well with all the changes happening to her. Brenda seemed to be the one stable thing in her life, the one person who was always there for her."  
  
Jack and Samantha looked at one another.  
  
"Brenda Hood is the one who takes Nancy's cases when she's away," Samantha reminded him.  
  
Jack nodded, remembering what Nancy had said in the office. "We need to look at her file," he said. Brenda had obviously had contact with Emma prior to the sabbatical. They looked at one another, wondering if this was a lead or just another dead end.  
  
***  
  
THIRTY-THREE HOURS MISSING 6:00 p.m.  
  
Jack's cell phone rang. Glad he'd asked Samantha to drive, he reached for it and said a quick "Malone" into the receiver. He listened a moment, then said, "You need to get a new phone, Danny. First thing tomorrow. I mean it." After listening a while more, he said, "Good. Now I need you for something else: I want you to take a look at a woman by the name of Brenda Hood. Works for Social Services; covered for Nancy Shelby while she was on sabbatical. I need anything you can give me. Address, phone number, friends. She may know something." He listened for another moment, then said, "Yeah, I think we can sit back on that for now. If we haven't found Emma by the time the father returns, we can interview him at home ourselves." He knew it was unlikely the father was involved, given the information Danny had just given him. Tracing showed he had circumvented the city. He wouldn't have had the time to leave his truck, find transportation into town, take Emma, get back to the truck and still keep on schedule he had kept. Jack looked at his watch. After giving Danny background details on what they'd discovered, he ordered, "Tell Viv and Pete I'm still waiting for information on Nancy Shelby. I want you to bring in Brenda Hood. I want to talk to her tonight."  
  
Jack put his phone away and sat back. He looked at his watch, then turned his eyes towards Samantha, watching her as she drove them back to the office. Feeling more regret than he liked to admit, he told her, "Looks like we'll have to cancel dinner."  
  
She turned her head and held his gaze. "I take rain checks, if you give them."  
  
He felt something inside him relax. Smiling slightly, he told her, "I do." He wanted to thank her for understanding, but knew it was unnecessary. Of course she understood - she was as wrapped up in this as he. Looking out the window, he realised with a start that he needed to let his wife know he'd be later than expected. He considered calling immediately, then pushed the idea aside, deciding to wait until he got back to the office. Maria would be upset, and he liked to keep his marital difficulties private.  
  
The ring of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts again. He spoke only a few words, then flipped it closed and turned to Samantha. "That was Vivian. Nancy Shelby was at an early morning meeting with her supervisor the morning of Emma's disappearance. There's no way she could have taken her."  
  
Samantha nodded and drove them towards the office in silence. Mentally, she removed Nancy from the suspect list and bumped Brenda Hood up a notch. The light, cold snow continued to fall, and again the worry that Emma might be outside flitted across her mind. A sense of urgency made her press down on the accellerator just a little harder.  
  
End Chapter 5 Shelter 


	6. shelter 6

Author's note: Thanks to DM and and KM for their beta-ing skills. And KM - thanks for not letting me get away with what I knew was a cheap way out!  
  
The comments and crits are very appreciated. Thank you. Writers write to be read, and comments let us know that's happening. MidnightCaller, EOlivet...Thanks for the words of encouragement. Wow.  
  
As for the questions about where Martin is in this story: he isn't. This story takes place only about a year after Sam joined the team. Martin didn't arrive until 4 years or so later.  
  
Have a good week, everyone.  
  
Shelter Chapter 6 By: Mariel  
  
When Brenda Hood didn't answer her phone, Danny Taylor asked Vivian and Pete to check in with some of her neighbours before returning to the office. There was always the chance that someone in her building knew where she was, or had seen something that might be useful.  
  
Walking into his office with Danny following, Jack nodded in approval. "Good going," he said. Taking off his overcoat and hanging it on the coat tree, he turned back and eyed the younger agent with a hint of a smile. "That maybe redeems you for the cell phone battery thing." Sobering, he asked, "How long ago did you talk to the two of them?"  
  
"Half an hour, or so ago. They said they'd call as soon as they had any information. I figure it'll be an hour at least before we hear from them. While I'm waiting, I plan to run a check on her credit cards and bank accounts."  
  
Jack nodded. Looking at his desk, he said, "I've got a call to make and some paperwork to finish. Get Samantha to help you, and I'll meet with you both in about forty-five minutes."  
  
Once the door had closed behind Danny, Jack sat down at his desk and stared at the phone. Tonight would make it three nights in a row he'd called and told his wife he wouldn't be home until late, the third day in a row his daughters had not seen him because he'd arrived home too late to say good night and left too early to say good morning. He knew it wasn't the way it should be, knew it wasn't fair to his wife or the girls, and could even understand his wife's hurt and anger. But they were safe and warm and cared for. A bold, vivid picture of Emma Matthews skittered across his mind. Reaching for the phone, his fingers touched the cool black plastic and he paused, wondering where she was, and what, if anything, Brenda Hood had to do with her disappearance. He glanced at his watch, again mentally calculating how long it was until that critical forty-eight hours. Unconsciously inhaling a little more deeply, he picked up the receiver to call his wife.  
  
* * *  
  
THIRTY-FIVE HOURS MISSING 7:30 p.m.  
  
"They should be here in about fifteen minutes," Danny replied when Jack walked out of his office and asked if he'd heard from Vivian and Pete.  
  
"Good," Jack said. Glancing at the white board, he took his place at the conference table and asked, "Did you two learn anything?"  
  
"She used a bank machine about two o'clock this afternoon on Canal Street, near the Holland Tunnel," Samantha offered, her eyes briefly meeting Jack's. "She took out two hundred dollars, and I've requisitioned a video tape of the transaction to see if she was alone or with someone. It'll be hours, though, before it gets here."  
  
"Her credit charges are pretty mundane," Danny said. "She doesn't show anything for today, yet, and it'll be hard to say for sure what she did until sometime tomorrow." He tapped his pen on the table nervously, eager to go over the information that Vivian and Pete had eked out during their visit to Brenda Hood's building. Jack watched with a slight smile, knowing it was killing him to not start without them. Sticking to his decision to avoid repetition - and heaven knew with Pete, there would be plenty of that anyway - he stood and went to the white board, refusing to discuss the two agents' findings until they arrived themselves. Picking up a marker, he drew a couple dark lines and began filling in what little new information they had garnered during that afternoon's investigation.  
  
He had barely finished when the sound of the elevator door opening and the murmur of familiar voices made him turn. Vivian and Pete were back. Removing their coats as they walked, they both put them on their respective chairs and hastened to join the others.  
  
Once they were settled in their seats, Jack had only to raise an enquiring eyebrow to start the flow of information he had been waiting for.  
  
"We were lucky, and found a few of the neighbours at home right away," Vivian told them. "One of them remembered her saying something about taking a few days off to go up north to her cabin. I've already called to have someone do the research on that. If she owns property somewhere, it would be a natural place for her to go with the child."  
  
"Another neighbour mentioned seeing her put a couple of suitcases in her car yesterday, so she must have gone there," Pete piped up, obviously eager to contribute to the meeting. His blue eyes gleaming with excitement, he continued, "She took the kid. She must have."  
  
Vivian, who had suffered earlier through a few hours of listening to his theory about how a child molester had obviously picked her up, smiled and looked down. It was fine to come up with theories, but you couldn't jump on them like you would a bandwagon. It prevented you from seeing the whole picture, and it was often through seeing the whole picture that you found that one, small piece of information that eventually led to an unexpected twist and to a case solved.  
  
Jack sat back in his chair and looked at Pete gravely. "Not necessarily," he said, trying to curb the young man's enthusiasm gently. "It could be a coincidence. Coincidences happen at an astonishing rate. We'll follow this lead, but we still need to keep our minds and eyes open." Turning to glance at Samantha, he said, "We need to check her work to see if this was a planned time off."  
  
Vivian and Pete resumed their account of what they had learned. All in all, it had been quite a bit. Cutting into Pete's discourse on something they'd already discussed, Vivian said, "Brenda's lived in that building more than ten years. Her neighbours to each side and across the hall have been there roughly the same time. That meant they actually knew each other. They say she went to her cabin fairly regularly. One person we need to speak with wasn't home." She looked at her notes. "Charlene Waugh. Apparently they are very good friends. A couple of people we spoke to said that Charlene was the most likely person to know where Brenda is. We've left word that we want to speak to her as soon as she gets in."  
  
Jack nodded. "Vivian, I want you to be the one to talk to her. And check to see if we know where that cabin is, yet." Moving to recap his pen, he continued, "We need to look at Brenda's apartment. Vivian, Pete, take care of getting the warrant for that, and then go take a look around. If you're lucky, Ms. Waugh will be home when you get there. If it looks as though we need to, Samantha and I will head up to the cabin. For now, we'll be at Social Services, looking into Brenda's work history. Danny, I want you to keep trying to reach Nancy Shelby. I want to speak with her, regardless. Keep an eye on Brenda's financial records, too. We need to know if she's on her way to the cabin or headed somewhere else. If she's taken her car, she has to buy gas somewhere. Hopefully, she'll use a credit card." He paused to look at them all, then finished, "It looks like this will be another late night. Sorry, people."  
  
***  
  
Back in the Social Services Building, Samantha looked around the small meeting room she and Jack had been ushered into. A large white board was placed on one pale green wall, and two easels with large paper pads stood in front of another. Functional chrome and orange-vinyl chairs surrounded a large circular veneer-topped table. Placed in front of two of the chairs were several piles of beige file folders. She expected that they contained the cases that Brenda had been responsible for over the past year or more. Turning to the woman who had led them in, she said, "Thank you for coming in. We really appreciate it."  
  
Melissa Manchester nodded her dark haired head. "Brenda has worked with us for years. I find it hard to believe she could have anything to do with this, but I can hardly say no when the FBI says it wants something." A smile softened the words, just as it was meant to.  
  
"We understand that," Jack said, "but we need to look at every possibility."  
  
She looked from one agent to the other agent, her grey eyes gently assessing them, then waved a slender fingered hand towards the door leading to the corridor. "I'm going to get some paperwork. I'll bring it back here so that if you have any questions you won't have to go looking for me." Smiling, she left.  
  
Sitting in the chairs Melissa indicated were for them, Jack and Samantha began to silently peruse the records Brenda's supervisor had placed out for them.  
  
Melissa returned and sat quietly at the far side of the table. Time passed without their noticing as the pile of documents gone through grew. Finally, after a long period of silence, Samantha frowned. One of the names sounded familiar. Looking up, she said, "Gregory Browning. That name sounds awfully familiar."  
  
Melissa responded immediately. "Greg Browning. He was the little boy who went missing about six months ago. He was outside playing with some kids, told them he was going in to get something to drink, and was never seen again. He was one of Brenda's. She was very upset at the time." She shook her head. "I remember her saying he was one of those great kids who really deserved a break."  
  
Jack and Samantha shared a glance, their pulses quickening. There had been other children go missing over the past couple of years. Though Brenda Hood's name had never come up, they remembered that more than one of them had been in foster care at one point or another. Jack took out his cell phone. Punching in a speed dial number, he waited a moment, then said, "Danny. I need the names of every unsolved disappearance of a child under twelve in the past three years." He paused, then said, "Oh, good. I think we'll be taking a visit there tonight after all. Give me the address and directions." Listening intently, he scribbled on the notepad in front of him, then said a quick goodbye.  
  
"Do you remember if any other children under her care have disappeared?" he asked, not commenting on the conversation he'd just had.  
  
Melissa frowned. "Brenda wouldn't harm a hair on the head of any of her kids. She's one of the most dedicated workers I've ever had the pleasure to work with. She couldn't possibly-"  
  
Firmly, Jack cut her off. "I believe you. I need my question answered, though."  
  
"I'd have to look through the records, but I don't think so." She paused, obviously not happy with where the questioning was leading. "Children have gone missing over the years, of course. I'm sure you have worked on some of the cases. I don't think all of them have been located, but often we strongly suspect that they've been taken by a non-custodial parent, or by a relative or something. And sometimes a parent just up and leaves without telling us. There are all sorts of explanations for a child not being where we think they should be. It doesn't mean that they aren't perfectly safe."  
  
"Yes, but if you could look, we'd be grateful," Samantha prodded gently.  
  
The social worker nodded and shrugged thin shoulders. "I don't think there are, but I'll dig around. It might take a while."  
  
"Do the best you can," Jack said patiently, "We'll be here."  
  
Half an hour later, Melissa returned with several files and a paper on which she'd written the names of children and when they had disappeared. When Samantha and Jack went through the files they quickly realised that, though not directly linked to all the children, Brenda Hood had had contact, at one time or another, and for one reason or another, with six children who had gone missing during the past five years.  
  
Jack's phone rang. Answering it, he jotted down the names Danny recited, noting as he did so that the children whose case files they'd just read were on the list. None had been found. A sense of urgency washed through him.  
  
If it was Brenda Hood who had caused these children to disappear, whatever she was doing appeared to be permanent.  
  
After he hung up, he quietly pushed the list of names he'd written across the table to Samantha.  
  
After looking at it briefly, she raised concerned eyes to meet his. "We need to get to that cabin," Samantha said in a low tone.  
  
Jack nodded. There are coincidences, and then there are coincidences. They'd be crazy to ignore this one.  
  
End Chapter 6 Shelter 


	7. shelter 7

Shelter Chapter 7  
  
THIRTY-SEVEN HOURS MISSING 9:30 p.m.  
  
The two agents stepped out of the Social Services Building into a cold, black-and-white world. Snow had continued to fall from the dark sky, and now everything - dark buildings and wet black streets, iron railings and grey stone steps - was covered inches deep in what looked like a thick layer of white cotton candy. Cold, wet cotton candy.  
  
Looking down at her shoes, Samantha asked: "Think we could stop to pick up my boots before we go? If we've got this much snow here, it's sure to be worse farther north."  
  
Jack agreed. "Makes sense to me." He paused and looked up. Large flakes of snow twirled down out of the darkness. His eyes singled one out and followed its course to the ground, where it gently piled up upon its kin. Turning his attention back to her, he said, "From the directions Danny gave us, I'd say once we reach the highway, it'll take at least an hour and a half to get there. If this keeps up, and if the wind they're forecasting happens, we may not be able to drive back tonight. You'd better pack something for overnight, too, just in case. I keep a bag in the car, so I'm okay. While you're inside getting your stuff, I'll book a couple of rooms, just in case we need them."  
  
They returned to the car and, after Jack followed her directions to her building, Samantha quickly entered her apartment. Conscious that he was waiting for her, she gathered her boots and, as he'd suggested, threw some things into an overnight bag. Going to her closet, she exchanged her overcoat for a warmer, hooded parka. As she zipped up the front of it, the thought crossed her mind that though this wasn't their first overnight trip together, she felt a sense of anticipation, not just about the case, but about spending time alone with Jack. The idea warmed her in ways she didn't like to think about. Setting her errant thoughts aside firmly, she took one last look around the apartment, locked her door, and returned to the car.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Traffic was sparse, and three-quarters of an hour later they were already well out of the city. Finally travelling roads even less busy and more snow- covered, the winter-white world held them in a silent, protective cocoon. Twice, their shared quiet was interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone. Both times, they comfortably lapsed back into silence after a brief discussion.  
  
Jack drove carefully. In spite of his concentration on road conditions, however, he found himself unusually aware of the person seated quietly beside him. He enjoyed working with women, and had never had the concerns working with them some of his cohorts did. Indeed, he felt as safe with a woman at his back as he did a man. Working with Samantha, however, had become something different. Over the past year, without his knowing quite when or how it had happened, she had broken out of the mould of being simply an appreciated work partner and grown into something else entirely. What he felt for her now, he had to admit, was far more than just trust. He enjoyed her presence too much, sought it out too much... wanted it too much.  
  
Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His growing attraction to her concerned him. All the dirty in-jokes he'd ever heard about men partnered with attractive, younger female agents rose up in his mind, mocking him. But he was sure this (whatever 'this' was) wasn't like that. And, on a deep, instinctive level, he was certain she returned his feelings and was every bit as reluctant and unsure as he. Neither of them was the sort to seek only a good time or a quick romp. What was growing between them was totally different. And it was that total difference which caused him so much concern.  
  
He grimaced and slowed as the taillights of the lone car in front of them shone brake-red through a veil of steadily falling snow. He watched as the car made a right-handed turn and left them to forge ahead alone. Mentally bidding the car goodbye, he resumed his previous thoughts about Samantha. He had not gone looking for this, and he found it frightening. And exciting. It was something he didn't want to think about and something he couldn't keep his mind off. It was something he wanted to happen for the sheer joy of it happening - and in spite of the sheer terror he felt at the thought of it happening. He felt the way he had as a kid, standing on the high diving board: terrified of jumping, but knowing that the rush of the fall made it worth overcoming his fear. He-  
  
"Jack, could we stop at the next gas station for a minute? I'd like to use the washroom."  
  
Samantha's prosaic request jarred him abruptly from his thoughts. Turning to look at her, he said, "Sure. There should be one coming up in a few minutes. The next town can't be far away. I'm sorry. I should have asked you the last town back."  
  
She smiled. "I kept thinking you'd suggest we stop somewhere to eat."  
  
"I thought about it," he lied, "but figured there'd be a better place the next town up. So far, I haven't seen much."  
  
He was right: there hadn't been much. Off the major routes and the city left behind, she was surprised at how remote everything had felt for the past half hour or so. They were also taking more time than expected. In spite of the few cars on the road, they'd had to take it slower than they'd have liked. Driving was slippery and potentially treacherous and the road they now travelled had yet to see a plow.  
  
"The next place will be fine, no matter what it looks like," Samantha promised.  
  
"Not that I don't believe you, but it'll be interesting to see what you say if it looks like your diner on Cuthrow," Jack said in a dry tone.  
  
Samantha made a snorting sound. "I only need to use the washroom. If the place looks like Cuthrow, you go right ahead and eat what you want. I'll use the rest room and wait for a decent place for my food!"  
  
Jack smiled and turned his attention back to the road, wishing a plow would go by so that he knew for sure where, on the vast expanse of white before him, he was supposed to be driving.  
  
A few moments later, a faint glow over the rise of the road ahead promised they were approaching civilisation. A few more minutes of driving and they turned a corner and came upon an enclave of houses and businesses that made up the small town of what a sign they'd just passed identified as Smithton Falls. Flashing lights and a barrier were placed across the road. Jack stopped the car once he reached the barrier and got out to inquire about what was going on.  
  
After a brief conversation with an orange-jacketed officer, he returned. Brushing snow off his overcoat, he reported: "They won't let us through for any reason. A transport carrying chemicals overturned a few miles ahead, and until it's been cleaned up, we're stuck here. Both lanes are blocked, which is why the roads haven't been cleared - as luck would have it, both of the county plows are on the other side of the accident. There's no convenient way around, so we might as well stop over there," he said, indicating with a nod of his head a small diner off to their left. "I was told someone would come in to announce when everything's clear. The guy figured it'd be at least another hour."  
  
Dismayed, Samantha nodded. Knowing he shared every one of her concerns over the delay, she voiced none of them.  
  
After parking their car, Jack remained where he was and phoned the local authorities nearest to Brenda Hood's cabin. After a brief conversation, he hung up and turned to Samantha. "It's a small force, and they're up to their ears in problems already. They still haven't been able to send anyone up to take a look. Apparently the cabin is in an out-of-the way spot, and since there's only a private road leading to it, it won't be plowed. The sergeant I spoke to figured they might be able to have someone there by about the time we arrive."  
  
Samantha shrugged. "I'd rather get there first, anyways." Though he didn't respond, she knew Jack felt the same.  
  
In unspoken accord, both got out of the car and paused to stretch and look around. The small, flat-roofed diner boasted a single gas pump that stood far enough from the restaurant to allow cars to stop on either side of it. Hanging near the right front corner of the establishment was a sign saying "As Free as the Air You Breathe". Under it was a compressed air pump for filling up your car's tires.  
  
Hunching her shoulders against a whisper of wind that sent snow flakes brushing against her neck, Samantha turned to look at the building itself. Three worn, wooden steps led to a door painted forest green, the top half of which sported a gleaming window with the words "Deedee's Diner" painted in large letters in the same colour. To either side of the door was a large picture window. On the outside, the windows were neatly outlined with multi- coloured Christmas lights. Crisply pleated red and white gingham curtains hung on the inside. They were opened to reveal people sitting at tables and booths, basking in warm, yellow lighting. The place looked clean, and Samantha breathed a sigh of relief as she walked up the steps to the door.  
  
"I think this will suit us both." She smiled and turned the handle to enter. "You find us a table. I'm heading straight to the washroom," she said as they stepped inside and the warmth and smells of the small establishment enveloped them. The place was crowded, no doubt because they were not the only travellers caught with nothing to do until the road was opened. Looking around to see what direction to take, she spotted a sign and headed to her right. Jack, left alone, stood for a few minutes scanning the premises. When the occupants of a booth moved to leave, he quickly claimed it.  
  
He was examining the menu when Samantha slid into the chocolate brown vinyl seat opposite him with a happy sigh, "I feel much better now." Looking around, she commented, "You were lucky to get a seat so quickly." Turning back to Jack, she asked, "See anything interesting on the menu?" She placed her coat on the seat beside her and looked at him expectantly. There being only one copy at the table, Jack turned the menu so that she could also see it. She twisted her neck, then slid out of her seat. "Give me your coat and move over. We can look at it together," she said. Taking the coat he obediently passed to her, she placed it on top of hers and then slid smoothly into the booth beside him.  
  
The menu contained all the things diners all over the country offered. After deciding on her choice, Samantha resumed her seat on the other side of the table. It was a little thing, but she missed having his warmth next to her. There had been a small excuse to lean slightly against his shoulder as she read the offerings, and she had recognised that he, too, enjoyed the contact. A busy waitress had taken their order- they'd both decided upon the chicken pot pie- and then left them alone.  
  
She looked across at him as he examined the room. She had picked up a difference in the air between them days ago. Something was changing. There was a sense of anticipation that made her heart beat faster, a sense that they were on the edge of something so deeply personal it would change things forever. It frightened her. And made her pulse throb with excitement. She was falling, and for the first time in her adult life she found within herself no desire to stop her headlong descent.  
  
Jack's cell phone rang. He answered and quickly held it away from his ear, grimacing at how loud the other side came through. Listening, Samantha knew before Jack said goodbye that Brenda's neighbour, Charlene, had finally contacted them. She had told Vivian that Brenda sometimes had children come to stay with her on weekends. The last two times she'd had a little girl.  
  
"So Emma stayed with her the last two times she was supposed to be at a foster home," Samantha said when Jack hung up.  
  
Jack nodded. "Looks that way. I've got Vivian and Pete working to see if there's a chance that could have been a pattern she had with the other kids who've gone missing. She could be taking them, getting them used to her, getting them to trust her, and then going off to kill them somewhere."  
  
Samantha frowned. "But why?"  
  
Jack shrugged. "Why does anyone hurt a kid? Who knows?" Samantha lapsed into silence, hoping very hard that there was a more benign explanation for Brenda's actions and for the children's disappearances.  
  
"Perhaps you should call the police station there again and suggest they should try a little harder to get to the cabin," she said, worried.  
  
"Vivian is doing that as we speak," Jack said. "I had a few words with her while you were in the ladies' room."  
  
Nodding, Samantha lapsed back into silence. Staring across the room at the window, part of her mind registered that the snow was now falling at an angle. The wind must have picked up. She frowned, worrying about Emma and how long it would take to get to her.  
  
Opposite her, Jack took his turn to watch her. Resisting the urge to reach over and touch her hand, he said, "We'll get there as soon as we can. There's nothing we can do until we get back on the road. It's not their fault that the police is blocked from getting through on the other end."  
  
She lifted dark eyes to meet his. "I know," she said softly. Shifting her gaze, she looked through the windows into the snowy darkness outside. "Earlier, I was worried about her being outside in the cold. Now I'm just worried."  
  
This time, he followed his impulse. Drawing her attention away from the cold silence outside, he lightly ran his fingers over the top of her hand. "We'll be there soon," he said, enjoying the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.  
  
"And if they're not even there?" she asked, trying to distract herself from the sensations his touch created within her.  
  
"Danny hasn't found any transactions to indicate she's gone anywhere else, but if that's the case, then we'll just keep looking."  
  
He drew his hand back reluctantly when the waitress arrived with their meals.  
  
* * *  
  
They were just finishing their coffee when Samantha's phone rang. Saying hello, she listened, her face growing more concerned as the other person's conversation lengthened.  
  
"Nothing?" she asked. "No footprints? Perhaps she left the vehicle. Did they say anything about a suitcase?"  
  
Samantha felt a shiver of ice water run down her spine when she heard Vivian's answer. Reaching into her pocket for her notebook, she got her pen and wrote a phone number down. "I'll tell Jack," she said before hanging up.  
  
"That was Viv. She thinks you should call the police yourself, but wants you to know they called to tell us that one of the car accidents that have been keeping them so busy involved a small beige Mazda. It's registered to a Brenda Hood. The woman in the car has been taken to the hospital and is still unconscious." She paused. "Jack, there was no evidence that there was a child with her."  
  
"Did they check for luggage?"  
  
She shook her head. "Viv says that the officer she spoke to said that she was alone in the vehicle, and he had no knowledge of there being luggage in the car."  
  
They looked at each other in silence. If the woman in the car was indeed Brenda Hood, where the hell was Emma?  
  
The End Chapter 7 Shelter 


	8. shelter 8

We're almost at the end. The WaT crew still don't belong to me - I'm just taking them out for a walk.  
  
Thanks to those still reading. Thanks even more to those reading and commenting! It makes writing way more fun. Sarah, I hope you continue to enjoy the story!  
  
Shelter Chapter 8 By: Mariel  
  
Minutes after an officer came into the restaurant and announced that the road was opening, Jack had paid for their meals. A few minutes more, and he and Samantha were in their car and on their way. Theirs had been the only vehicle to leave immediately. Others, who had also been waiting, had chosen to take the officer's advice and wait for the plow, which, he promised, would arrive in only another thirty minutes or so.  
  
Samantha and Jack had not felt that luxury of time. The officer, understanding their sense of urgency, had phoned ahead to announce their travel intentions to the contingent of plows and police vehicles that had been trapped on the other side of the now removed transport truck.  
  
As Samantha had noted while inside the restaurant, the wind had picked up, frothing the snow that had already fallen back into the air, and creating clouds of white impossible to see through. At other times, strong gusts sent rivers of snow flowing across the road in front of them, blurring where the asphalt sloped into ditches on each side, and making just staying on the road a chancy business. In only moments, the lights of the town behind them disappeared in a curtain of roiling white chaos. Alone in a world of furiously competing black and white, they forged ahead at what felt like an impossibly slow pace.  
  
"How are we going to see the turnoff when we get there?" Samantha wondered, looking out into the storm.  
  
"I'm watching our mileage," Jack replied. "It's not on our map, but Danny said the turnoff was five miles outside Smithton Falls. Hopefully, we'll see something. Of course, if the plow gets there ahead of us, it will have blocked the entrance with snow..." His voice petered off. Walking to the cabin might be their only choice. He frowned, trying to remember if Danny had mentioned how far off the road the cabin actually was.  
  
* * *  
  
"It feels as though we should be there already," Samantha commented a while later.  
  
Jack grimaced. "We've barely gone two miles." He eased his foot from the gas pedal as another whiteout encircled them. "Damned stupid time of year for a snowstorm," he complained.  
  
For want of anything better to say, Samantha noted, "It caught everyone by surprise." She looked out into the storm and wished it was summer. "They're starting to bill it as the storm of the decade," she added, quoting a weather announcer's comment she'd heard on the radio in the restaurant. She hesitated a moment, then decided to voice what she was sure they had both been wondering. "Should we be driving straight to the hospital instead of the cabin, to be there when Brenda Hood wakes up? If she knows where Emma is..." Her voice trailed off.  
  
Jack waited a moment before replying. Samantha had a point, but something teased at the back of his mind, urging him towards the cabin. Finally, he said, "I don't think Emma was with her. I was told there was no sign of anyone walking away from the vehicle, and that there was no luggage in the car. When I spoke to the officer at the scene, he said that there were a few groceries in the trunk. What if after they arrived, Brenda discovered they needed a couple of things? What if she left Emma in the cabin and headed out for what she thought would be a quick trip to the nearest store - and then had the accident on the way back?"  
  
Samantha sat in silence, pondering his words. "You think she'd have left Emma by herself?"  
  
"Samantha, we don't even know if Emma is alive. But if she is, my guess is that she's used to being left alone. Brenda would know that, and she may have figured that a cabin in the middle of nowhere was probably a safer place to be left than her mother's apartment in the city. Or maybe Emma was asleep, and Brenda didn't want to wake her - or maybe she just didn't want to run the risk of someone seeing her, and left her behind, just to be safe."  
  
Samantha nodded, and felt a small seed of hope begin to grow inside her. Perhaps Emma would be there, unharmed.  
  
She clenched her hands. Or perhaps they would find nothing. Perhaps Brenda had nothing to do with Emma's disappearance and they were on a wild goose chase based on nothing but a bizarre set of coincidences. She shook her head at her thoughts. Deep down, she was convinced that Brenda had everything to do with it. And if the other disappearances were also her handiwork, they already knew she was very good at covering her tracks. Feeling her frustrations rise, she moved restlessly in her seat.  
  
Her thoughts were getting her nowhere, so she sat back and forced herself to ease some of the tension in her body. Stifling a sigh, she consciously tried to think of other things and turned her gaze towards the storm. After a few moments of watching the hypnotic bluster outside, her mind slowly turned to thoughts of the man beside her. She turned her head slightly to watch him as he peered through the maelstrom that encircled their vehicle. His features highlighted by the glow of the dashboard lights, she eyed him critically. He was the most complex man she'd ever met. And the most caring. And he carried with him something that attracted her, something she had never found in anyone else. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, couldn't have even begun to describe it, but she knew it was there and that it called to her and she to it.  
  
A tremor ran through her. She liked the silver hair that grew at his temples, and wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through his shortly cropped hair. Turning her attention to the hands gripping the steering wheel, she imagined what it would be like to have them against her skin. It would be good to feel him move against her, to feel his mouth against hers, to touch him in return. She stopped her thoughts abruptly, moving uncomfortably in response to the rush of sheer physical desire they elicited. Her soft sigh almost a moan, she turned again to gaze out at the storm.  
  
* * *  
  
After what seemed a very long time, Jack slowed the car almost to a halt. The plow had gone by them, heading to the town they had left behind. The driver, a shadowy figure atop a bright yellow monster, did not stop, but had slowed and waved solemnly as he passed. The open trail he left behind had allowed Jack to increase his speed, albeit while driving on the wrong side of the road. Fortunately, they had met no cars in the twenty minutes since then. That there were no police vehicles following had caused them a moment's concern, but they had decided that they may have been caught up with some other emergency - or, perhaps, they were waiting at the entrance of the road leading to the cabin.  
  
"Do me a favour," Jack said into the silence. "Call Danny and see if he can tell us just how far in off the road the cabin is."  
  
Samantha nodded and reached for her phone. A moment later, she turned to Jack and said, "He said it's hard to tell because the road isn't very straight, but he figures about a half a mile, or so. He says we'll know we're close when it starts to follow the river."  
  
She leaned forward to peer out of the window. "Where will we leave the car if we do find the turnoff? I can't imagine being able to drive the car right up to the place."  
  
"I'll shovel a spot if I have to," Jack said in a determined tone. "But I expect there'll be somewhere I can pull over. I just need to be out of the way when the plow comes back this way." He paused, squinting into the darkness. "You'd better start paying close attention. We should be coming up on it soon - it's on your side."  
  
There hadn't been a turnoff or a driveway for almost a mile. Or at least not one they'd been able to make out in the darkness. A few minutes later, though, and Samantha leaned forward, her eyes squinting. Still peering forward, she reached over and touched his arm. "Jack," she said, and then pointed.  
  
He looked closely and nodded. Between gusts of blowing snow, he could barely make out the entrance of a road. It had to be the one leading to the cabin. Noting the absence of police vehicles, he said without surprise, "I guess law enforcement got caught up with something else." The snow, he noted, was deep here, and he was careful not to slow down too much, for fear he'd get stuck. He turned the car into the one-laned side road and stopped almost immediately. There was no way they could continue forward - a dip in the dirt road just ahead made it obvious they'd be stuck before they went another ten yards. He looked over his shoulder. When the plow went by it would likely block them in. He shrugged. They'd worry about that when the time came.  
  
"Looks like we're here," he commented. Flicking his flashlight on, he moved to open his door. Looking back at her, he asked, "You ready?"  
  
Pulling on her gloves, Samantha hefted the weight of her flashlight in one hand and nodded.  
  
* * * *  
  
1:30 a.m. FORTY-ONE HOURS MISSING  
  
A few yards' walk took them into the protection of the trees. The wind, less able to thrust against them because of that protection, seemed to ease, though they could hear its angry roar as it rushed through the branches above their heads. On the ground, the snow was deep, and their legs quickly grew heavy with the effort of trailing through it.  
  
"Looks like there's been a car in here," Jack said, his voice raised slightly over the whistling tree branches. He pointed his flashlight, indicating where faint parallel indentations the width of a car could be seen in the track.  
  
"They're almost filled in with snow again," Samantha said, almost shouting to be heard. She held the furred edges of her parka hood together more tightly around her face and hunched her shoulders against the cold.  
  
Jack nodded, glad for the heavy winter FBI gear he'd kept stored in the car's trunk. Adjusting his thick leather gloves, he said, "It must have been hours ago. You wouldn't be able to get in here now without four wheel drive."  
  
Samantha turned and peered into the darkness. "So if Emma's there, she's been there alone for a while."  
  
Wordlessly, they moved forward.  
  
* * * *  
  
Fifteen minutes later, they came to a fork in the road. Unsure which direction to take, because blowing snow had covered any trace of where the car had gone, they chose the one they believed led to the river. Five minutes later, however, the road came to a dead end. No cabin. No river.  
  
Retracing their steps was difficult. Though the trees acted as a windbreak of sorts, the wind and snow getting through was now directly in their faces, making their cheeks and foreheads sting with cold. Moving away from the river meant they were travelling uphill as well, the gentle incline feeling steeper with each snow-impeded step.  
  
Her legs aching, Samantha stopped and turned away from the wind to catch her breath. Cold was beginning to seep through her boots, and her fingers, too, were cold. She thought with longing of the sheepskin mittens she'd not taken the time to look for when she'd returned to her apartment.  
  
Noticing she'd stopped, Jack stepped back towards her, keeping himself between her and the storm. She turned to face him when he placed a hand on her arm. "I'm out of shape," she told him, her voice breathless.  
  
Jack nodded, not trying to hide the fact that he, too, was winded. "You and me both," he said. He looked at her closely, and in a voice tinged with concern, he added, "You're getting cold, too." Looking down at their feet, which were almost knee deep in snow, he added, "The snow's deeper here because it's drifted downhill. It'll be better once we get back to where we turned off." Without thinking, he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It shouldn't be too much farther. Come on. The sooner we start, the sooner we get there." Hunching their shoulders against the cold, they turned and resumed their walking.  
  
Finally reaching the spot where they had veered to their right, they took the alternate branch. Ten minutes later, they were relieved to see the faint glint of a window reflecting their flashlight beams.  
  
Moving closer, the gray outline of the cabin began to loom in the darkness. When they were only yards away from it, Jack flashed his light around. Gentle indentations showed where a car had been parked in the lee of the structure. Another, single furrow led to the front door.  
  
"Nothing fresh. And no lights on that I can see."  
  
Refusing to believe that something bad could have happened to the smiling girl whose picture hung on the whiteboard back at work, Samantha said, "She may be asleep. Perhaps Brenda drugged her so that she wouldn't wake up before she got back."  
  
Both moved towards the front door. Jack walked up the two steps leading to it and tried the door handle. It turned easily in his hand. Glancing at Samantha in surprise, he removed his gloves and unholstered his gun from beneath his jacket. Nodding once, he slowly opened the door and entered.  
  
Gun raised and body tense, he stepped forward and shone his light around the interior, methodically noting what it revealed. Shadowy furniture, a stone fireplace with a white sheepskin rug on the wooden floor in front of it. On the mantle, pictures. Two lamps sitting on end tables on either side of a sofa. To his left, a kitchen table with four chairs, a kerosene lantern on top of it, a braided rug beneath it. Moving further into the room, he felt Samantha move inside behind him, closing the door as she did. "It's clear here. Check the back room," he said in a low voice, gesturing towards his right. He moved to his left in the direction of what he expected would be the kitchen.  
  
Samantha opened the door leading off the living area carefully, then called to Jack. Leaving the small kitchen, he followed the sound of her voice and stopped when he came to stand beside her in the doorway. There, in the light of Samantha's flashlight, was Emma Matthews.  
  
"Emma?" Samantha asked softly.  
  
"Who are you? Where's Brenda?" the little girl asked, struggling to a sitting position in the double bed that dominated the small bedroom.  
  
Jack and Samantha looked at each other in relief. Full of questions as she was, Emma was obviously unharmed.  
  
Samantha turned on the ceiling light. "I'm Samantha Spade, and this is Jack Malone," she said, taking the lead as she moved slowly towards the bed Emma sat upon.  
  
"Where's Brenda?" the little girl asked, blinking in the sudden brightness. "What time is it? She should be here by now. Why are you here?"  
  
"We've come to take you home."  
  
Samantha's words brought a hopeful look to Emma's face. "You're the ones? Am I going to live with you?"  
  
Jack and Samantha shared a glance. Carefully, Samantha turned to Emma. "No, honey, we're going to take you home to your mother," she said in a soothing voice.  
  
The change in Emma's demeanor was immediate. Frowning, she said angrily, "No! And you can't make me!"  
  
Disconcerted at the child's response, Samantha said, "Emma, your mother is worried about you. You just disappeared. Brenda didn't have the right to bring you here. She didn't tell anyone where you were."  
  
"She couldn't. If she did, no one would have let her find me a mom and dad to be my family." She looked from one to the other adult standing in front of her. "Please don't make me go back. I want a family. I'm a good girl. I'll be good, I promise."  
  
Something in the little girl's voice broke Samantha's heart. There was a longing there - and a determination - that she recognised. Here was a little girl matured before her time, a little girl who had experienced enough of what she didn't want to decide what she needed - and who was willing to fight against her fate in order to get it.  
  
"Where's Brenda?" Emma asked again. "I want to talk to Brenda."  
  
"She was in a car accident," Jack told her quietly, watching her carefully for her reaction.  
  
Emma frowned and slid off the bed. "You've got to take me to her. She'll be worried about me. Can you call her to tell her I'm okay?"  
  
"I can certainly phone to see how she's doing," Jack said, finding himself liking the girl's precociousness. "You have to get ready to go, though. Wear something warm - it's very cold out there, and it's a bit of a walk to our car. I have to make a couple of calls while you're getting ready. We'll call Brenda before we leave."  
  
His answer seemed to satisfy her, and they watched her nod. Smiling at her response, they left, closing the door behind them.  
  
Outside the room, Samantha and Jack looked at each other in wonder.  
  
"She was going to give her away like you would a puppy," Jack said, shaking his head at the thought.  
  
Samantha turned to look at the closed door. "I don't think so," she said, her face thoughtful. "I think there was a lot more thought put into this than that. The question is, is that what she did for the other kids as well?"  
  
"For, or to?" Jack grunted.  
  
"For, Jack," Samantha said patiently. "Emma wanted a family, a real life. A safe life. Brenda was trying to give her that chance. With people who could provide her with all the love and stability she needs."  
  
"You think," Jack responded tartly.  
  
She nodded. "I think." Her eyes took on a wistful look as she turned to glance at the bedroom door. "I hope."  
  
Jack moved to one of the table lamps and turned it on. A warm glow filled the room. "This is a nice place," he said, taking out his phone as he looked around the room.  
  
Samantha didn't reply, knowing his mind was already on the call he was making. She watched as he waited for someone to answer. Finally, he said, "Yeah, we're at the cabin. Emma's here. She's fine. We're going to get her ready and bring her out shortly. Let the mother know her daughter's safe and that we're on the way. Call the local police and let them know, too." Samantha saw him frown. "What?" he asked. He looked across the room at Samantha. "When did they tell you that?" A moment's wait, then he asked, "For how long?" He listened to Danny's response, then said, "Okay. I'm sure we'll survive. I'll phone the hospital now to see how Brenda's doing." Repeating his earlier instructions, he added, "You call the mother and the local police, then go home and get some sleep. Tell the others to do the same. We'll talk in the morning."  
  
Flipping his phone closed, he turned to Samantha. "Looks like we won't be needing those motel reservations. Apparently the storm's getting worse and they've closed the road again. The plows have been taken off the road. We're here for the night, so you might as well take off your coat and make yourself at home."  
  
The end Chapter 8 Shelter 


	9. shelter 9

Shelter Chapter 9 By: Mariel  
  
"You might as well take off your coat and make yourself at home. We're here for the night."  
  
Take off your coat. Make yourself at home. We're here for the night...  
  
His words hung between them, their double import heavy in the air. The case was over, the lost was found, and all that was left to do was tie up the myriad of loose ends this particular case had engendered. But instead of sensing completion, they felt something else rising between them, something barely begun that demanded a response. They stood in silence, a room span apart. The storm raged outside, a little girl readied herself to leave in a room nearby, but for a moment, they were outside reality, two people separate from the rest of the world and embarking on something that made their hearts pound.  
  
It was a heady, freeing sensation.  
  
Finally, Samantha cleared her throat and found her voice. "What happened?"  
  
"Storm's worse," he said. "They've pulled the plows and closed the roads."  
  
Samantha looked around, her mind searching for something concrete to latch onto besides the man in front of her. "It's not likely that the power will last, then. Something's bound to blow over and fall on a line. We should get a fire started, and look for candles." She quirked a smile. "Add a bottle of wine and we could have the perfect evening..." Her smile faltered when she saw the look in his eyes.  
  
The heady sensation of living only in the moment swept over her again. The precipice they had been steadily moving towards since the first time they'd met was right in front of them. There was nothing else - no going back, no second guesses. She would kiss him tonight, and he would kiss her back, she would hold and be held and the sharing would be wonderful and earth- shattering and life-altering and, for a moment at least, they would say to hell with everything else. The thought of touching and being touched, of allowing whatever it was between them to happen took her breath away. Unfamiliar and so welcome she felt she could weep, a surge of happiness welled up inside of her.  
  
She dragged her eyes from his and looked around, forcing herself to act with some degree of normalcy. "We'll be fine," she said. "I'm sure there are enough towels that we can shower, if we want." Her eyes met his for one second, then slid away. Would everything she said lead down the same path?  
  
"I'll go back to the car and pick up our stuff. You-"  
  
"No!" Samantha broke into his words abruptly. "I-" She stopped, not wanting to say aloud that she didn't want him to leave, that she wanted him here, with her. She looked at him, her eyes dark, afraid that the moment building so beautifully between them would dissolve and disappear if he left. "You can go in the morning. The storm should have died down by then, and you'll be able to see where you're going."  
  
Uncertain she had convinced him, she added, "We've got food, shelter, and wood for the fire...you don't need to leave...We can wait for a change of clothes." Her words trailed off into silence. Her voice had sounded breathy, and her pulse beat a steady tattoo. He was still staring at her, and the room felt suddenly smaller and very warm and she knew that tonight they would create something that, once made, would not easily be undone.  
  
Emma had emerged from her bedroom. Looking from one silent agent to the other, she frowned. "What's the matter?"  
  
Her question made both adults start in surprise. Recovering first, Samantha turned towards her and smiled. Shrugging off her parka and laying it over the back of the sofa with hands that trembled only slightly, she said, "Nothing. We just found out we have to stay here the night. They've closed the roads, so it's not safe to leave."  
  
Turning to Jack, Emma asked, "You were going to leave us here?"  
  
Realizing she must have overheard a part of their conversation, he explained, "I wasn't going to leave entirely, I just wanted to pick up our overnight bags from the car."  
  
Emma looked at one of the windows and said, "It's too windy and snowy outside." Reinforcing the wisdom of her words, the wind chose that moment to buffet the side of the cabin with an unusually strong gust. Wood creaked and wind whistled through cracks in the window casings, filling the room with an eerie, sad moan that faded regretfully into silence.  
  
Walking across the room, Emma slid up onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table and looked over at the two adults. "You don't need to go now. There are new toothbrushes in a drawer in the bathroom. I know, 'cause I saw them. Brenda has all kinds of clothes in the bureau in my room, too. You can share." Her hostess duties out of the way, she asked, "Can we talk to Brenda, now?"  
  
Jack looked at her with a hint of amusement in his eyes. She had obviously spent a good part of her time alone here thoroughly going through the place. "You still want to, eh? I wondered. It took you quite a while to get dressed and out here."  
  
"You said we were leaving. I had to pack my suitcase," she said in an adult tone. Waiting a heartbeat, she added in a matter-of-fact voice, "I was thinking about running away, but I couldn't get the window open. It's too stormy out there, anyways." She looked from one adult to the other. "I don't-"  
  
The two agents watched as the little girl's calm facade began to crumble. Trying to speak again, she started, "I want-". Again, her lips trembling, she was unable to finish. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Fighting them, she finally got out, "It's not fair. I want a mommy and a daddy. She promised. And now you're going to make me go back, and-" She stopped talking and bent her head down, fighting not to cry.  
  
Samantha moved to kneel beside her. Looking up into the little girl's face, she found she had no idea what to say. Finally, desperately wanting to reassure her somehow, she said, "You're right; maybe it's not fair. But things will work out." Knowing her words weren't enough, she looked over at Jack, her eyes pleading for his support.  
  
Jack walked over and sat at the table across from Emma. Not able to find it in his heart to lie, he told her the truth. "What Brenda was trying to do is illegal, Emma. She didn't have the right to take you from your mother. You can't take kids from their parents and give them to other people because you think the kids will be better off or happier. It can't work that way. Brenda may have wanted you to be happy, and you may want new parents, but she had no right to do what she was doing."  
  
Emma frowned. "Then she's in trouble?"  
  
Samantha nodded and rose to take a chair beside her. "I'm afraid so. There are other kids who have gone missing that we think she perhaps helped find parents for."  
  
"And you're going to find them and make them go back to where they came from? That's mean. Brenda says every kid deserves a good home to live in. It's mean to make them go back," she repeated. She paused a moment to think, then added sadly, "I'm never going to have a real family, am I?"  
  
Jack and Samantha shared a glance. They were in over their heads here, and knew it. Some things were impossible to explain in terms understandable to a six-year-old. Some things were inexplicable under any circumstances.  
  
"I'm going to phone the hospital now. You want to talk to Brenda if she's awake, right?" Jack asked.  
  
Successfully diverted, Emma nodded.  
  
As it turned out, they couldn't speak with Brenda. The nurse who answered the phone, however, was cautiously optimistic about her recovery and suggested they call back in the morning. "Everything looks good, but it was quite a bang to the head she took," she told Jack.  
  
After closing his phone and passing on the message to Emma, Jack asked her, "Are you hungry? We can get you something to eat."  
  
Looking very small and sad, Emma shook her head. "I had a sandwich Brenda made for me before she left. And a banana and a glass of milk before I went to bed."  
  
Again, Jack and Samantha shared a sad glance. Here was a six-year-old who fed herself, made her own bedtime snack, and put herself to bed when the adult she was expecting didn't arrive home on time. Independence at a young age, but at what cost?  
  
"You know what?" Samantha asked, "It's three o'clock in the morning. I think you could probably do with a little more sleep, so why don't we get you into bed for a bit? In the morning, they'll have cleared the roads, and we'll be able to go and see how Brenda is doing ourselves, okay?" Samantha looked at Jack, knowing that they should probably be going directly back to the city to return Emma to her mother. He nodded, however, silently agreeing to the detour.  
  
Rising from her chair, Samantha watched as Emma slid from hers. Following her to the bedroom, she asked, "Do you need to brush your teeth or anything?"  
  
Emma shook her head and looked up at her. Looking anything but, she said, "I'm okay."  
  
Resisting the urge to put her arms around her and tell her she was sorry, Samantha nodded. "Call me when you're in your pj's again, and I'll come and tuck you in."  
  
* * *  
  
A few minutes later, Samantha emerged from Emma's bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her.  
  
Jack sat in the middle of the sofa, holding two mugs of coffee. Joining him, she accepted the mug he passed her and sat back comfortably. "It's not fair," she said softly, still shaken by the emotions Emma's situation had evoked in her.  
  
"No," he agreed, "it's not. But it's not our job to decide what happens. We've done what we need to do - we've found her. What happens after that is out of our hands."  
  
"And you don't feel frustrated by that?"  
  
He took a sip of his coffee, then turned to face her more fully. Resting one elbow on the back of the sofa, he said, "Of course I do. But I'm not the one to say what's right and what's not. There are too many variables. Brenda was playing God, Samantha. That's a dangerous thing. It may be she has always chosen correctly, but it's a dangerous path she's taken. And a wrong one."  
  
Still feeling frustration at the situation, she nodded and took a first, tentative drink of the hot brew he had made while she had been in with Emma. It was unexpectedly good. Looking from her mug to him in surprise, she allowed it to take her away from her depressing thoughts. "This is great."  
  
"You thought I'd make you a bad cup of coffee? I'm wounded."  
  
His eyes smiled at her, and she relaxed as, under their warmth, the mood betwen them gently shifted.  
  
Watching her expression carefully, Jack searched for a word, then said softly, "You look...content."  
  
She held his gaze. "I am," she whispered, not needing to explain why.  
  
Reaching across her, he set his coffee down on the end table behind her, relishing the temporary closeness. Moving back, he replaced his arm along the back of the sofa. Softly, he touched her hair. "I should make you coffee more often, then." In silence, he watched his fingers as they played with a few strands of her hair. Lifting his eyes to meet hers, he admitted in a low tone, "I'm feeling oddly at peace, too. I shouldn't be, but I am."  
  
He also had no need to explain why.  
  
Turning slowly, she set her coffee down beside his on the end table. Moving around again, she settled closer to him and lifted a hand to trail slender fingertips against the silver hairs at his temple. Without speaking, he bent his head. Silently, she leaned forward to meet his lips with her own.  
  
The storm outside seemed to suddenly hush.  
  
Cupping the side of her face with his hand, he gently caressed her mouth with his lips. Savouring her, savouring the moment, he slowly deepened their kiss, moving to hold her tightly against him when she parted her lips and his tongue slid against hers.  
  
The cacophany of emotion and physical reponse their kiss elicited left them breathless and shaken. Pausing a moment, they looked at one another in wonder. Raising a shaking hand, Samantha dared not look into his eyes. Instead, she caressed the side of his face with her fingertips. "I-"  
  
Whatever she would have said was cut off as his mouth again descended upon hers.  
  
End chapter 9 Shelter 


	10. shelter 10

DM, KM...the ending's a little different from what either of you have seen, I think. You know I can't stop myself from fiddling. Hopefully I didn't do anything too drastic!  
  
Thanks as always to those thoughtful enough to drop a line about the story. It's nice to know someone's reading. Why else post?  
  
Thanks, and until next time...  
  
Shelter Chapter 10 By: Mariel  
  
Epilogue  
  
Surrounded by trees exhausted from a night of fighting the wind, it had taken almost an hour to dig the car out and get it on the road again.  
  
As they'd promised Emma the night before, they made their way as quickly as possible to the hospital Brenda had been admitted into. The trip was made in companionable, peaceful silence. Emma did not seem in the mood to talk and sat quietly staring out the back seat window. In the front, the two adults sat in a cocoon of wonderment over what had passed between them only hours before.  
  
Once at the hospital, they quickly learned that Brenda would not suffer overmuch from her injuries, and would likely be demitted within a few days. Jack requested permission to see her.  
  
"I want to see her first," Emma said as they walked towards Brenda's room.  
  
"We can all go in together," Jack told her.  
  
"No. She's-" Emma stopped in her tracks and wrapped her thin arms around herself tightly. Tears started to form in the little girl's eyes. "I-" She stopped, unable to continue.  
  
Samantha immediately turned a concerned gaze towards Jack. Putting a gentle hand on Emma's shoulder, she said, "We can let her. Just for a couple minutes." She looked down at the little girl, empathizing with what she must be going through. All Emma probably needed, she thought, was to be hugged and told it would be all right by someone she trusted.  
  
Some of what she was thinking must have gotten across, because Jack reluctantly nodded. "We need to speak to her alone afterwards, Emma. How about you go in for a few minutes, then we'll switch? The nurse said she'd keep an eye on you while we're with her."  
  
After Emma had disappeared into the room, Samantha said, "Thanks, Jack."  
  
"I suppose she's scared. And worried. It won't hurt us to wait a bit," he said in a gruff tone.  
  
They waited in silence on a vinyl-covered settee placed just outside the room. The atmosphere thick with what had happened between them, Samantha finally murmured, "We're going to have to talk."  
  
"Only if it doesn't break the spell," he returned in a low voice.  
  
She smiled, and suppressed an urge to touch him. "I think it'll take a lot more than talking to do that."  
  
"I'm still in shock," he admitted, looking at his hands.  
  
Making what was to be a rare public display of their newfound closeness, Samantha reached over and placed her hand over his. He raised his eyes to meet hers. Silently, they communicated the knowledge that though they were unsure of the next steps they would take, those steps would certainly be taken towards each other.  
  
Several moments later, they turned and rose quickly when Emma emerged from Brenda's room. "You can go in, now," she said, her eyes filled with tears. "I'll just sit here and wait," she added, walking over to the settee Samantha and Jack had vacated. She sat, her feet swinging several inches from the floor and looked down at her folded hands.  
  
After sharing a sad glance, the two agents entered Brenda Hood's hospital room. She lay quietly, her large blue eyes following them as they crossed the room towards her. Her head was partly bandaged, testament to it having gone through the windshield when her car had left the road and hit a tree. What hair they could see looked to be shoulder length, blonde, and wavy. Both agents resisted the urge to look at one another in surprise. They had supposed that she would be somewhere in the range of Nancy Shelby's age - late forties, early fifties. Looking down at her unlined face, Jack revised his estimate to somewhere in the mid thirties.  
  
"Brenda Hood?"  
  
The woman in the bed nodded carefully, her expression wary. What transpired next was an interview that left Jack totally frustrated and Samantha feeling an odd sense of pride that the woman had borne herself so well against his inquisition.  
  
Yes, she had taken Emma two days ago. Yes, she had brought her to her cabin. When asked for her motive, and after being given their evidence, she reluctantly admitted that she had planned to provide Emma with 'adoptive' parents. "Emma deserves that," she insisted stubbornly.  
  
"And her mother doesn't deserve to know where her daughter is?" Jack asked, his anger simmering.  
  
Brenda turned clear, certain eyes towards him. "No. I don't believe she does. Emma's mother cares very little for anything but herself and the checks she receives for Emma's upkeep. I don't know why. I don't understand it. Perhaps she can't help it. Perhaps it has something to do with her own childhood. I don't have those answers. I did have the answer to Emma's situation, though: loving parents in a good home, where she'd have the chance to feel safe and loved and cared for. Every child deserves that, Agent Malone."  
  
That she believed what she said with all her heart was evident.  
  
"Did Greg Browning also deserve that?"  
  
Brenda paused, obviously recognizing the name. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"I think you do. Greg went missing six months ago. He was one of your cases. Did you decide to play God and find him new parents, too? Did you take him away and put him with people to raise him as their own? Did you do that for Sarah Churchill? For Justin Cooley? For Brandon Spencer?" he asked, listing some of the other names on their list of missing children.  
  
"Why would I do that?" she asked.  
  
"You decided to do it for Emma."  
  
Brenda looked away. "Emma was different. Emma needed a chance."  
  
Jack believed none of it. "I've heard you quoted as saying that very same thing about Greg Browning."  
  
Her expression shuttered, she said, "You can't lay every missing child at my feet."  
  
"No, but we will be investigating every child disappearance you might have had something to do with."  
  
Brenda Hood shrugged. "You have to do what you have to do. I'm sorry, I can't help you."  
  
They got very little information out of her after that. Leaving, Samantha looked at Jack as they walked down the corridor towards where Emma was waiting for them with the duty nurse. She knew they couldn't leave things lie, but also knew that wherever the other children were - if Brenda had helped them find new homes and families - they were likely better off than they would have been without her intervention.  
  
"I think I'd like to know why she picked Emma," she commented. "Perhaps that would help us understand who else she might have chosen."  
  
Jack looked at her. Her voice held none of the condemnation he would have expected. He remembered her words when they'd spoken of why Emma had managed to remain so untouched by the mixed up, crazy life she had led with her mother. What had Samantha's early life been like? Was it the reason she seemed to have so little animosity for what Brenda had done? Had she at some point hoped for a rescuer? Wished for different parents? A different life?  
  
"You don't seem terribly upset by what Brenda was trying to do," he observed.  
  
She thought a moment, searching for the right words. "I'm not. I think life doesn't always deal a fair hand, and I think when that happens to children, it's a good thing that adults look out for them and try to shelter them the best that they can. Sometimes they need protection, Jack. Shelter from their environment, or from the people they share genes with. Whatever. They need love, too." She paused. "I guess more than anything, they need love and the shelter it provides them. Emma wasn't getting that, not by the looks of it. Brenda saw an opportunity to help her, and though it went against the rules and against popular perception of what was right, she was willing to do her best for the child, regardless."  
  
He shook his head and slowed his steps to a halt. "What she did is against the law."  
  
"Yes, I know. But what she did was also a wonderful, kind, sacrificing thing, too." She looked him in the eye. "I'm sorry we found her, Jack, and sorry we were so good at tracking her down and stopping what was going to happen."  
  
He stared at her. "You don't really mean that. You don't know where she was going. It could have been somewhere terrible."  
  
She shook her head. "You know as well as I do Brenda wouldn't have allowed that. She would have chosen parents very carefully."  
  
"I want to know who she had picked out for Emma."  
  
Samantha looked at him with dark eyes. She had a theory, but was not about to share it. She was sure Brenda Hood never would. Some things, she knew, were better left alone. It was something she would see Jack learn over their next few years of working together. It was something she had learned before she could remember.  
  
* * *  
  
As fate would have it, when they returned to the city, Jack and Samantha learned that Emma's mother had disappeared. With her at least temporarily out of the picture, Frank Roberts, Emma's father, was called. He arrived the same day they called for him to take his daughter home with him. The last they saw of her, Emma looked content to be going. Samantha had worried about the stepmother, but held her peace. Anything, she thought, would be better than living as she had been.  
  
Brenda was arrested. Later, suspicion arose that Nancy Shelby might possibly have been aware of what Brenda was doing. May, in fact, have even helped in the process. Brenda, however, refused to incriminate anyone else, and the DA's office was unable to gather enough evidence to charge her with what Jack was sure was a whole series of child abductions. Whatever she had done, wherever the children had been placed, she had accomplished her task with such skill that they were unable to come up with anything that could lead to a prosecution.  
  
Ultimately, Brenda Hood was charged only with the abduction of Emma Matthews. She served eight months of her sentence and eventually went to work for an adoption agency.  
  
In the days that followed their experience in the cabin, Jack and Samantha continued to draw closer. They had taken a huge, unconsidered step that night. But they were sure of their attraction for one another, sure that the connection they felt was true. As time passed, they found that keeping their private lives separate from work happened just as naturally as the beginning of their affair had. Wrapped in the moment, they thought little of where what they were doing would lead. This was theirs. It provided protection against the world, protection against things they saw and felt and couldn't forget, and from lives not what they had hoped for. Their affair was what they wanted and needed, and there was no question of its rightness or wrongness. A void filled, a need met, kindred hearts...who knew what it was, or what it meant - or what it would lead to? They welcomed its shelter and said thanks.  
  
End Shelter 10/10 


End file.
